The Zenith of Demuth

At the zenith is the kicking emotion 

Painted with blue and edged with saxophone gold

Your happiness is sour and rusted in a muddy gown

The anger and frustration kicks at my chest

And I think of invisible wings taking me somewhere else

Anywhere else

All over the world I hear the strum of guitars

And all over the world I hear the call of beauty

But here

You are one of the piteous souls who strive

And who are forever spinning like the world 

Around a Sun trying to get closer but never touching

You will never change

And I think of Demuth, I think of Charles

The only thing that calms me on this Tuesday

He understand what he was and who he was

He was not threatened by these things 

Sitting at the table of great men 

He knew that to be great was to laugh and not care

You care too much and laugh too seldom

You are threatened by beauty and by loneliness

I dwell in loneliness' beauty

And this is why I will dwell in the ideal of Demuth

Demuth is the golden soul who heard a rattle beneath the piano. He opened the case and saw the soul who screams in the nightmares of the breathless and the stupid. There are few people in life who call the momentous moments off and he never did. Wearing sweaters and shirts with cigarettes burns he would walk to the parks, to the shade of the trees where the impatient chess players would sit buttering each other's fingers with french kisses and there he would sit dribbling as the fire engine's roared by dreaming about deja vu. 

Ah Demuth! where are you now? If I wanted to call you what number would I use? would you answer the telephone? would your bony fingers pick up the receiver and hold it up to your lips? I only wonder because the gulls are all on the beach bobbing up and down on their kite strings silently and prophetically. Nobody cares anymore, except for the few of us who know about the blue sky that is tinged with saxophone gold. I love you Charles, I love you and when February comes I promise I will bury the piano, I will burn the wooden box that holds the telephone and when the good season comes I will let you hide behind me. As you let me hide behind you.