Raspberry Café
red morning ashes blowin' down
fog street.
Jiminy Cricket poking pin-eyed
behind hot-rod racing coffee pots,
gasping... give a little whistle.
Torn page Charlie
spread-eagle to the firewall winds
and the CRS begins shadow push-ups
in the mad hatter morning scramble.
Rue des Martyrs
nervous chocolatiers
deep fried in fear dripping
fragile jam on the
hard to fathom floor.
Rain's soft-sweet curled nipples
freedom's faint bugle cries
what we need here is a good musical romp
revolution magma roasting our
perky sullen-no-more red-sole shoes.
Dig dog
licking the acid street rain
hallucinating bell tower goddess howling
bawdy balcony tunes
garland dangling her leftover January bosom
she chisels a big fried opera-dyed Auld Lang Syne.
Modest gains on streets of gold
candlelight vigil hangover
sleeping off
a windy cold carbon cartoon morning after,
bloody mary.
What brings you to this house of prayer?
young bullet-proof bog-sniffing guard
deep-wire train eyes, asks.
We feel like praying,
pray for the sick, pray for light,
pray for the soulbirds singing
in the somewhere dark Charlie night.
Plant a rose in the garden of saints,
roast marshmallows over holy coals,
mumble sweet nothings about
hairy merry hereafters.
Paris stir the new year kir,
grumble like pigeons at the crystal clear
doors of Raspberry Café,
hearts made to bark
between bites of carry-on cheery crumble.
