Room in the east invested with meanings,
Open to none but the strange and the wild.
Sunset encounters with destiny’s chances,
Envelopes marked for the personal life.
Night falling, hiding the poet’s transgression.
Blown in the winds of aquarian tides.
Echoed words spoken by token romantics
Rock ‘n roll supermen,
Ghosts of new vice.
Making Love In Strange Autos whilst life’s ink sings always
That Love Is Swift Arrows my dear.
Oh, God in some heaven whose number is seventeen
Dressed you in blue jeans this year.
To torment my soul
Oh, Leave me alone…
Rules to be broken by reckless and young men,
Odes to be written by passions’ sick hand.
Seeds to be sown on the rich fields of promise,
Ends and beginnings that never quite meet.
Nothing of value that hasn’t yet vanished.
Brown-eyed and wise as the feminine fates.
Evening’s sweet menace, revealing, inviting.
Highways to paradise
Grey lines of grace.
Making Love In Strange Autos whilst life’s ink sings always
That Love Is Swift Arrows my dear.
Oh, God in some heaven whose number is seventeen
Dressed you in blue jeans this year.
To torment my soul
Oh, Leave me alone…
–Be Bop Deluxe, Love is Swift Arrows. Play It.
I need to fix the background on that image so it’s really black, but, you know, fuck it.
…Thanks DN!
Welcome, KE!