Cold Fusion

As you put your foot onto the pavement you inhale the darkened street,
The bleary lights,
The weary shadows of pedestrians with nowhere to go,
Really, and cocky strides filled with pretentious purpose.
One step, then another.
You drink it all in: the taxis, the crashing teenagers,
The beer bellied men clinging on to the last remains of hair on their
Weather beaten heads like the youth they can hardly remember anymore.
You light a cigarette, the first in months and months.
You know you shouldn't, you really shouldn't.
But shouldn'ts are a luxury these days.
Like orange juice on tap.
Just too good to miss.

Rain falls on expectant face
This ancient institution
Now you know a better way
Cold fusion

You sail through first gear, second.
Now you are in to third.
It's a football suspended in mid air,
Hanging there, a split second from failure or glory.
On the doorstep of dog eared immortality.
Pushing the bell hard,
Waiting for hesitant steps
Approaching behind fly spotted lace curtains.

The faint trace of midnight piss left on
The breeze like a boxing glove thrown in anger.
You hurry your steps, but only so much.
Part of you wants to stay here,
Inside this moment, this stale second before it all comes down.
Then you glance over your shoulder
And, seeing no turning back, you move on.

"The Baby Brother",
"Rick on the Town",
"The Bell and Whistle".
Names once innate to your body language.
Your legs sing again and join a chorus with countless others.
A comeback so long in coming,
But note perfect from ouvertyr to encore.
And then, lights on or off behind the final curtain?

This is hell and the other place, rolled in to one.
This is Dante and Beatrice united at the bottom
Circle, unseen but for the blind eye of the cyclops.
This is the last frothy drops of the final pint but
One, suspended momentarily between up here and down there.
This is the sticky end to which we must all come.

Rain falls on your weary face
This disillusion
Now you know the better way
Cold fusion