“Unknown Spaces”
(Another poem written some time ago <3)
Unknown phases, phrases—brick hedgerows swaying
Gently amidst river, unless this page’s mistaken, we’re
Not that much older, I remember, a thousand treetops
Bestrewn to swarths of railroad smokestacks, hope that
Vapor climbing upwards with ascendency, distantly, as if
This was heaven—cityscape, skyline of starlit skyscrapers
Akin unmet faces, peridot eyes, Jupiter skin, December’s
Children, exile off main street, to think once upon awhile
The words meant something; the dovetailed church-bells
Scattering apart wind, flower petals and chrysanthemums
Moon curtains aglow, place where merlot bottles go, your
Rialto in Rio, felt tables, velvet blazer paisley with emerald
Stitched sunflowers, fragrance an essence of fables, so 2007
Wasn’t that long ago, watching Gossip Girl, Red Bull vodkas
Over snow and Bordeaux, of ghosts 3AM chateaus unknown,
Under-eyes sanguine, bubbly spritz, orange juice mix, Amex’s
Sleepless breakfasts, caviar from the Caspian Sea, ashlar teeth,
Her? Total Stella Adler, Italian jewelry, crescents index—come
On over here, get a look at, hey, do you even know who this is?
Cigarettes the ends of sticks, lacquering lips the color of absinthe
Translucent, decanter crystalline, her dress’s fabric ice-like, limpid
Yet silver-sequined, mithril-ish, reflective of this sunless September,
Autumn in the East Village—harpist’s callous fingertips, martini olives
Grenadine and mimosas, not alcoholic nor in love either; Mr. Taximan
Summoned by one laser-engraved, onyx-bold typeface, metallic keycard
If-cosmic lemniscate, alone in the velvet room, bluesy-jazz, suit-and-ties,
Miscellaneous chat, forever Payne’s grey wallpapered by Irish saints, pale
Bloodlines, a car ride up the coastline; tapestry of outstretched fingers, we
Kissed razor’s edges, Toyota Celica, here the days just sort of bleed into another,
The Isle of Manhattan and Ambien, Christian Brothers and ecstasy, take MDMA
And ketamine, handful of pearlies; is this neon lounge hell or just 24/7? But can
I ask you a question? Would you mind, really, hold on, wait a second, this call is
Buzzing the table, face looks like a Picasso, coke dealer says he’s from Tangiers
Escargots à la Bourguignonne, so why is he here, guy from Biloxi, Ecuadorian guy
Moonlighter named Hector who told the bouncer he used to work at the Limelight
Back when there still was time, where unknown places—spaces existed; so, what is
My soul if not a collection of atoms? The way the light makes your face look ageless
An angel you said, even—some nameless street urchin, orphan of addiction, in your
Sister’s arraignment, Parisian hand-me-downs, Camel menthols, Kools, green Marlboro’s,
Millennial Cabot Cove dramatist, but what the fuck does anyone truly know at this hour?
© 2007, A. M. D’Angelo
