I HAVE THIS PICTURE IN MY MIND OF THE GREATEST STORY
You and I meet in a crowded THRIFT STORE
Frame one shot  clear through the lense of cameras loaded with celluloid lasting only 15 minutes
Famously we declare our silent masked dance of distant space
And start a fight over some suede jacket that doesn’t fit Either of us, still we think that we deserve the jacket and begin a dialogue about love and lust and hate over clothes We can’t wear so our only way to preserve our sanity is to love our own sense of stylishness regardless I’m senseless, it’s hopeless
You give up and I give in so the leather is yours looking better and better on you every minute
My eyes give me away as you walk and sway left to right and rumble my sense of proportion
Laughing at the thought of my missed bus and your mistrust let alone the initial disgust that
You I , we sensed from the start, Its night and we’ve decided to talk one more time over bread and tea
My family don’t think I’m sane, your family thinks your playing constant games wasting time
I couldn’t decide if you were an accident waiting to happen or if karma exploding in my face
Retro-actively you made me wonder if inside my already frazzled freaked frustrated mind
That said that said that said that said ,you  could never be mine, you could never be mine
It’s seems the sun went down over two hours ago and I’m still feeling its heat all over this street
In streaks of red and blues I can  hear you swingin’ like jazz language within me like Miles
And miles of soultrane’s deep river Nile flowing into the gutters while washing last nights filth out to sea
See its not about you now its the inhaling of semi-toxic vapors meant for drunk poets laughing on the
Subway bus and cab ride downtown to some down tempo rare groove lounge where we sink into the walls
Ceasing to exist on the level where only dreams scream about Hollywood back rooms
In stories of hit men right hand men walking feigning faking and hoping to be mistaken for a mad man
Media musings and the creation of images to true to life closing in on the realism we desire
I awake to the sight of your heavy lidded eyes silent smiles and whispered  longing for my touch
My hands, my voice, my nerve,  my smile, my nervousness, my style, my poems, you like so much
Buried in your heat touch lingering wave like over my body I give up you give in
I wonder if the thrift store is open again

Douglas Miles © 2001