Saint Elmo's Fire
By Silver Spun Sand
Sun, 01 May 2016
- 3566 reads
8 comments
‘Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin’...
Cohen sings to a slender, slanting rain;
roofs and power-lines shine; not a night
for going any place – worst still, away.
Foot, hard down on the gas,
DJ switches to Chris Rea; gravel voice
to the susurrus of tyres on asphalt...
Red pelt of a fox, curled by a freeway;
ain’t no time for sweet valediction
till the engine’s slowed and wheels
stop spinning; roadmaps folded
into just-so, little squares...
And in a second-rate motel, every
room is taken, and a broken glass,
lipstick traced – trashed
a forgotten cigarette smoulders on,
obstinately, yet in an ashtray.
A guitar covets the coda of a love-song,
that floats on and on; eloquent as an unmade bed –
and a girl on a corner in a red trench-coat
bums a light...the air, humid – heavy
with an abundance of thunder.
‘Dance me to the end of love’...she says.
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Comments
Hi Tina
Hi Tina
This is so detailed and picturesque. You can feel and see and hear it as you read it.
Jean
Jean Day
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Tina, I just read this again,
Tina, I just read this again, and like before found the beginning description of journeying in the dark, wet night evocative, but felt oppressed by the incipient, pending thunder at the end, but I suppose that was your intention. I felt like saying, 'Go, find a pleasanter place, whatever the weather outside!'
Were you dissatisfied with your Piper-Alpha story? Rhiannon
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'slender slanting rain...'
Permalink Submitted by forest_for_ever on
'slender slanting rain...' magic
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'Second rate motel', been
'Second rate motel', been there done that, as many of us have, at one time or another...Keith
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