Friday, 17 September 2010
A Fragrance Ghost With No Name Drifts By
And whenever I catch a whiff of her perfume,
As a fragrance ghost with no name drifts by,
Time's warped arrow splices,
And Love's atomic clock,
Tock-ticks its anti-clockwise meltdown,
And a handful of forbidden memories escape,
Their ashes regenerate.
Time's never a straight line;
It's a curving upper-cut -
A cosmic smack,
Care of the Bad Karma Police.
I'm not guilty,
Where's my solicitor?
Glowing pearls on a melting boomerang,
Thrown by a dream-time warrior,
At this desert pedestrian.
Lonesome grains of sand more precious than diamond.
The broken windows of space evaporate Time,
And melt away,
The comic, dark-matter shadow play.
The wistful dolly dagger twists,
A charmed feedback loop of deja vu:
Her scent: her phantom touch,
She's not here,
She's not here she is..