The Restored Hotel Palazzo, Midnight Any Night



Peel Street illuminates 
our conversations flutter 
like filmstrips—here, a genie 
lights our tongues, expels whims and wishes 
if we promise not to count the eels
around his eyes.

Cocaine comes in ripples:
we dazzle the marble halls 
our puckered mouths
invite the violet flow of the staircase
while lanterns’ limbs swing rubies of light
between silver pillars 
our fingers pinched as crabs 
our skeletons draped on velvet sofas 
we ingest bygone opium eras 
and divulge our mock fascination.

Faraway an antique corner the kingpin 
holds his entourage of evening gowns
spins surrounds the crag
of his once-handsome jaw
the neck of his tuxedo 
spills fat as a toadstool 
as he licks white dust 
from a jewelled mirror.

Quick! We are lost, we are growing old.
Quick, spoon some more luxury.
Quick, our mirrors are dry,
their silver erased.

A doctor shifts gears 
to bring us elixirs of youth
his voice through a tunnel 
as he sutures our veins.

As he makes his filigreed exit 
past the violet stairs 
and its aphonic lovers
we are rejuvenated.

The waiter cackles, his front teeth 
cracked diamonds, his feet patent knives
slice across the marble tiles: next course?

A cloister of red snappers
flurries up to the bar
Peel Street loses its grip
alcohol illumines 
the night is a wheeze
our mouths smudge the silver pillars 
as we cry 

watch us fly.

A Demolition Symphony © 1995 SASkarstedt 

back to SAS homepage