The Geranium Hotel Poems

           Its late in the afternoon   The shadow, it         draws against the pavement                                 I am the only audience      That it will ever have...

Tell me when did I sign up for this? Tell me another name for this servitude Lost in the streets of your adopted hometown Where the spring comes late And the smell of damp earth never leaves your clothes Out of the triangle you can see the far flowers you can see paw prints in the snow When your head is filled with rhyme and nonsense where you sit beneath the elm And you talk to the shadow about the truth About being drunk on a farm of terror And you can hear a drum in the distance But it means nothing It means nothing Like an apology from America Or an acorn in Canada So lets not pull the teeth of Sydney Bay Like the thread that you use to tie around your finger Remembering French phrases on the piano at night We cant see beyond the triangle We know the algebra, we know the course But the lyrics have been washed from the bay's beach And we can only mumble and move our mouths Along with the guitarists actions Along with the governor and the mayor's bell ...

You put the ghost back on the shelf And you beg to know the way As the starlings fly Side by side Their wings cold Sliding in the night All around them clouds in orbit Never touching Crowns held high As you hear the click on the pavement Of shoes outside your door And the capital cities fade As the sunshine catches the handle Like love found in a letter Easy with that angel Easy with that weapon of economics We know you have the heart of a lion And the hand of a coward at war Happy only when silence is on the tongue A bitten finger and the smell of sweat You put those ghosts back in the cupboard And maybe it's time to leave You are the line that will not be crossed The bandage that is too tight Reality finds these days Too easily, too aghast But hey, you put that ghost back on the shelf Next to the old book of dust The book of sarcasm and healthy sex With spinning tops and daffodils I know you are the honey haired fruit of the garden But I can'...