Adam Fieled (Brooklyn, New York): "Brooklyn Song"

BROOKLYN SONG

The sage drops a bottle cap
on subway tracks;
it clanks, smudges blackness
w/ its’ brightness—
a new-born lion
roars & moans
sweet Brooklyn blues
to the riff-raff
of afternoon traffic,
smacking gumballs
w/ a martyr’s air—
the day shits out
an intestine.
I loaf in your basement,
smoking hash, drinking.
It’s too late for death
to besmear our unfrozen
contentment, fresh
as we remain for the sunset—
strawberry perfume
serves somebody’s purpose
to make a pretty smell
on the blank page
of our bodies—
new flowers sit
Buddha in
the middle
of the moving
picture frame—
love is what we’ll
remember (right?),
or just melded dreams—

© Adam Fieled 1999