Wednesday, April 03, 2013

Broken Shanty

Broken Shanty

It was two o’clock in the morning
I, a sailor, was dizzy from the drink
I was a not-so-subtle, partially self-aware cliché
Observing barflies and my kind in their natural element
Or trying not to piss myself, the memory’s fuzzy

Most barflies have no quandary with what to do with a drunken one
Things that usually required her on bent knees
On moonlit park benches, overlooking foreign skylines
In the alley behind the pulsating nightclub
Or for the truly initiated, right there inside the club,
Blessing the bishop, if you will,
Camouflaged by strobe lights and thumping baseline

I’m not sure if I was intentionally uninitiated
Or bashfully uninterested in contributing to the spectacle
Didn’t imagine I would turn down a gal’s affection
But I needed it behind a locked door,
In the dark, under the covers,
Accompanied by a healthy dose of shame,
Like a good Catholic

Uninitiated or uninterested in the tawdry scenery,
I focused my attention and intentions on the beautiful one
With a heavenly mane of fiery red locks
Or blonde, or maybe brownish-black

Fucking strobe-lights

Anyway, I focused my attention and intentions on the beautiful one
Who asked me to-
No, who challenged me to-
Demanded that I dance with her
Or I asked her,
Can’t recall; memory’s fuzzy

Her eyes had that terrifying mixture of intensity and ease
That I’ve always feared and secretly craved
Or feared that I would crave
Her eyes were like, scary-sexy,
-is the general theme I’m getting at

Her smirk declared that she knew what I wanted
She knew what to do with me
And I would let her do it,
If I had any idea of what that was
That, is, I knew what I wanted
But I didn’t quite know how to get there
But it was clear that she knew the way

We spun for a millennium,
Twirled for a nanosecond,
Glided into the heavens,
And slow-ground into the earth
Knocking reason and sensibility off its axis

I contemplated in this perfect, impermanent imbalance that
There must be a feeling more complex than love
Of an even greater intensity than lust
Of a more cavernous, slightly less carnivorous emotion than crave
There isn’t an utterance in human diction
That can capture the friction of tangled,
Knotted neurons, grunts, and bad manners
That my drunk self desperately needed to unleash upon
Every gorgeous millimeter of her glowing, knowing, smirking masterpiece

I mean,
Just saying that I wanted to fuck her pelvis into the bedrock
Well, that would come off as a bit crass, wouldn’t it?
Well, yeah, I wanted to, but

I wisely kept that gem locked-up inside my stupor.

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