At This Time Of Night

The hopeless energy beating blind
Assassinating the jagged jawed animals
Fashion shop guns and movie house girls
Cannibal mothers and cubical fathers
Who in the world can see the metaphor?
And who in the world is the metaphor?
The symbol in the circle
A portrait painted in the dark
The shoes are dry, the puddle's frozen
Against the wall the stones collect
The leeches take the blood the liquor thins
In the electric light your colour is shown
Leave day to the flowers and the silverware
We know we are wrong
We know we won't be forgiven
At this time of night no one listens, everyone has gone
Everyone grows old in our shadow
Leaving us alone and distracted
Something though sits on our shoulders
Urging us to look for the church windows
In which we are portrayed
For the graveyards that we read about
In the books of the baritone brothers
Who showed us the parks
And the places to go to find the empty clothes
Above us I could see the sky being redesigned
Below the drops of nectar leaked alkaline
I wanted to steal on my path
But what could I take from you
On that roughly sketched day
All the jars were empty of trinkets
The brass was out for rubbing
I was happy with the guessing game
And memories that I never knew i had
So many
Crystal handles helped me make my mind up
Red wine helped me face the squad on fire
I let you walk into a portrait of silver and gold
While the animals left no tracks
Although the hunting ground was covered
In mud, though frozen, icy and possibly imagined