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Concentric circles on the wall
of the Biograph
plot out coordinates
flash dead fallout radiation sickness
oh it depends on how the wind blows
how the wind blows if you are out past
the last ring but
you and me baby we are the lucky ones
stoned and watching the Brother's Quay
we don't know we are in love
but that is okay
our shadows will not have time
to be etched on the wall
we are vapor
We are vapor, you and me
inside the first circle down in D.C.
Down in D.C. you hold my hand
I wear your leather coat
like in the movies
and I pretend to be the Nancy
to your Sid
God when he picked up her panties
that fell from her bag onto the street
and breathed them in
I did not understand why
why
and so I tried it myself in your bathroom
leaned over between my knees
and breathed in my scent
until dizzyness overtook me
and I knew someday someone
would want me so much
to carry me in their pocket
like a pack of mints
I like the repeated lines, which establish a rhythm all their own. Remarkable!
..which has nothing to do with your poem but sounds a lot more earthy than panties in this situation. A good solid Anglo-Saxon word I presume and a cultural preference. Your poem made me realise I want to carry a trophy around of a young lover like a pack of mints.
Beautifully whimsical and nostalgic.
bb
Sid and Nancy,
Head between your knees
I have the vapours
Breath mint, if you please
I need a cigarette
Feels like a period piece
Running from the late 50s
Till the late 70s;
Love that pack of mints image;
Can see him now, bored to tears
In a useless meeting
Pulling out a mint to breathe deeply
While inaneness washes over him
With no effect...