Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Carnival

There’s always an amusement park
          at the end of the line
Where the sewer of dreams
          has run dry;
Each stop is more hopeless
          as more time passes by,

And the last extras peel
          away from your screen test
Where you would tell the little of the story
          you can handle
(The story we all know so well
          we think we own the rights to the sequel).

You kill yourself thinking
          there’s something you can’t give away,
How if you knew what it was
          It’d be no longer yours
And maybe you’d be lighter
          someday

And could plant your banner
          at the end of the pier
Like some phantasm
          cool, dark and pure,
Lurking, turned heartless
          from heartbroken.

The sound of money and gimcracks
         and junior high proms
Echoes so sadly, like the lights
         that won’t stop
Disappearing, and crying
         through the gear-restless night.

On some moonless Sundays
         you can still hear the ghost
Of the dance hall waltz
         in the arms of the wind
Like the story is writing
         itself.

2 comments:

J.P. said...

Sewer of dreams...quite an apt phrase.

So, if someone becomes heartless, is the amusement park a place of sardonic thinking, like "oh how amusing"?

WAS said...

It's about the search for fame.