Ine Kleine Nachtmusik

Because I’m not producing ‘new’ at the present..

Midnight strolls in
on tall stiletto heels.
The clackety click of purpose
fracturing the silence.
And neon lights
that wink in arch complicity,
Throw feather boas
over small hours’ shoulders.

The tumbleweed of newsprint
and the urbane urban fox
perform the Dance Macabre
close to walls.
To the tempo beat of bottles
that have fallen on hard times,
playing double time Flamenco
on the cobbles.

It’s a syncopated Nocturne
with the beat before the bar,
Just a little
like the Sally Army play;
When the fallen sisters come
to meet the risen son of man.
With the same bored introspection
as the tourist.

Then the dancers that are clinging
to the space against the wall.
Who are driven
by their want for wanton partners.
Get to fumbling for the funding
in the pockets, neath their coat.
And each fallen angel
swallows hard and smiles.