Fulling

A statue of light
exists erects its shaky visage
above
all night cafes
shiver
in the moonlight, a broken boy
wandering to the gaze of
his girl

he used to be in his teens
when I started writing this poem
on a napkin that says "goodnight"
to those
who are given
in
to
the blessings of sleep

with a moon this full I'll never sleep
I'll gaze at the boy
and his girl
and I'll try write a song for them
for not
about
of the lengths we have to go
to finally be as full as
the moon
above us

as deep as sleep
and as awake as an Indian chief
before his battle

echoes of an old Hendrix song
in the corridor
he makes everything sound futile
but I love the man
borders of death
swallow his gear
and here he is again
naked with an acoustic
guitar

I much prefer this statue
this must be
Seattle
supersonic
though it's all
too psychedelic for the US of A

Swinging London
had a better clue

anyway, this young couple
vanishes with the naked maestro
and here am I alone
fulling the moon to oblivion.