maybe i’m a mage
it was the first line of the first return
the sky had already received a five star review
in the great cities of europe and the americas
the magician and his assistant wife
the cafes du lait with creamy walls
the old aerodromes a carafe of fresh orange juice
all possible places at once are imposed upon each other
all these cities in one city
all these rooms in one room
all these stories in one story
all these words in one word :
imagine
bizarre and random life in the sun
you are old and young with your rippling reflection
you are no man or woman
you are a character
you live so this thing i write on you may exist
sitting at this table guzzling sangria with you inside your new skin
under these palm lined boulevards in endless dusk
lost into the alleys of brighton and paris which stink of piss
unafraid on some hillside i stroll confidently through the slums
i do deals with the beggars who fool me over and over
later i order expensive meals i cannot ever pay for
overlooking the gorges the rivers the cathedrals
the birdseye gaze of a madman as he drifts out of his world
throw open the doors to the weeks to come
old fisherman repeating the 1000 names of maria mother of god
the candles splutter on in warm dark of another church
some dashing waiter like a b grade zorro against vista panoramica
a guy shows up in a building to read the meters
a ruined garden of frenzied gardenias
estates in decline with doors for windows
conesuela sits on her train going endlessly to the beach
almost never arriving where the castles hit the shore
and one million mixed up casanovas in casinos and bars
their phones are full of distant voices they hear from as within a haze
we cannot approach their lives
with certainty they face the same day after day after day
in the swirling turmoil of the stage i have lost my locus
in the spells and all the tinkling little bells
as the lights flash and change the faces
in the bolted lightning struck lake villa nova
in white verse the poet bangs out his poem
coffee and hash and the orient as always and as ever
the world is snatched away for him
in germany for afternoons of grey sky peaceful suburbs
my wander down the streets of closed saturday evening shops
the epic work always beyond your meagre reach
you meet people outside your magic shows
you shake their hands although it was a hundred years ago
the peasants and nobleman all accept you now
many by their arrogance have ignored gods admonitions
the famous rivers cut across the famous places
the many friends we once had…where are they now?
in some pastelaria i dangle little estevao on my knee
in my old black clothes and my busted wand
i still struggle to understand all the small gold coins in my hand
at home conesuela lies in bed all day dreaming of her train
the atlantic beach the neglected sea calmly awaits her arrival
another blue day dawns and the foreign birds sing
the washing fades away on the lines
at another cafe at another monument
the cold beer flows and the touristas all gawk
which ever way i walk
i hardly ever find my way home
