The Old Gods (No. 9, 2003)
I.
The towers bloomed up in the dark
Like nails scrolling from dead fingers
While around them a languid curtain fell
In drifts of violet gas that settled on the roofs
All of us honeymooners and mourners
Aware of ourselves as objects in a landscape
That held above the chipped skyline
Bristling in the greater darkness
A dream of New York City
II.
We must have lived inside that dreaming
No more able to escape than words can flee the page
Our old Gods who gave us a magic by which to love
III.
In those days, we could take the D from 59th to 125th in one stop
Or all the way out to Coney Island
Not for the 24 hour pool room where the Russians played snooker a floor above the street
I did not go there with you
One night I had you with nothing between us
You were sat up on a jetty rock
I had the tide at my back
You in the shadow of Astroland
Lit by moon and amusement, a castaway
