The snow fell slowly

The snow fell slowly.
lonely flakes drifted downwards
in diagonal memory lanes
of purple,
from a stage
where a band kept their smiles on like light bulbs,
panting washed out hits
over a mellow crowd

The base banged my lungs like a drum, while vodka and red bull
made my legs twitch.
I started dancing in the snow,
like a fool but for real,
as the hi-hat poked my gut like a finger.

She was smirking at me
and I said:
“Sophie, don’t. We are only alive for seconds.”

Losing count

She met me at the end of the long escalator
where I was spat out,
hat and coat and bag and all
(A crosser of borders if there ever was one)

her feet were planted
on separate tiles
of the train station floor,
And I wanted to count them
(just to see if I could)

The station lights shot re-used photons,
aging my eyes,
while she led the way
to the freedom of tunnels and the steel caterpillars
that cost one euro eighty to enter

I hummed an old song I had heard somewhere else
and it went:

“She was script
waiting to be written,
A fruit to be peeled
I just need a napkin
and a quiet corner”

Hours later on the floor,
Empty Walls bounced our soundtrack
into our faces.

By the time we fell asleep
The room had already cooled again.

Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night

I stood in a place of Hunger
where the heat was on.
Ten euros to enter the darkness,
lights flashed a staccato of polaroid seduction
across my face.
After so many years
I still hadn’t seem to forgotten
how to
Be Fresh
or how pointless the beat is,
As it washes down drinks
at ten euro a pop, while
bodies sway and bite and grasp
an surely even fornicate.

There was no sin there
in the bowels of the discotheque,
Only the abstraction of music
And something else,
to which I wasn’t privy.

To try to understand is to kill,
And one who doesn’t practice,
doesn’t learn,
But the Peas had a Feeling that
Tonight’s Gonna Be A Good Night
and the dance floor enveloped
me in an short embrace
That did not offer anything