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It Was My Last Kiss Goodbye

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I came upon Waterloo riding on an uneven road,
and with me in the same cart was an aristocrat
who was known for being the best chess player
in the world. A perfect strangeness, he was amused
listening to "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" being played on
his cheap record player.

He looked at the map. His money was buried-deep
in the heart of the ground. The internal vibrations
rising from the core, caused him to stop talking and
to start dancing.

I monitored the time and day when I shot out the lights:
for that was the day the city repaved the parking lot. My
mortal instruments are working overtime, and the perks
of being a wallflower have been cancelled. It is hard to
believe that my Celtic circle has expanded a few feet
more. I have no secret life in this ancient suburb.

Archaeology would be able to dig-up conversations
between the squirrels and chipmunks. What I seek may
be forgotten, and there was a little distortion while playing
with the wolves. But I don't want to turn into sand, and I
want to buy a painted horse. I have watched a few classic
movies and have gazed at a few harbors.

When I left the roundhouse: I was chased by a swarm of flies
while running home. It's the curse of me. No lord of heavy
machinery. I heard about the postwar loves that occured
in Grand Central Station.

When I feel perplexed, is there a guide to get me out of that
state? I am a man in the twighlight overlooking the city. I read
a book about Utopia while sitting on the banks of the big river.
I am still learning, and I am in paradise. I attended an innocent
ceremony and I didn't submit to any of its palaver. I am trying
hard to be only my fool.

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