are you pacing the bridge at midnights?
Now that you're married, who do you wait for?
Does he throw rocks at the balcony of your hotel?
No - but I bet you do.
Ruby Clementine, did you kiss on the Seine?
Tell me you went back and reclaimed all your footsteps -
tell me you got arrested for swimming in the reservoir -
tell me that Claudia is still stalking the streets like an Amazon queen,
and Kastin
is slipping hash between your lips
Tell me why when I dream of you, it's wispy,
and I wake up with sand between my toes
Tell me there were bonfires in Valencia and
you went to Catalan to paint and be inspired,
tell me you've married the vagabond life
and it's the greatest love triangle you've ever known.
Violet Clementine, is the sleep bruising your lashes
at four a.m.
after bottles and bottles of two euro wine?
Tell me, darling, are you still dreaming?
1 comment:
Darling,
I did pace the bridge at midnight
cold and shivered on Paris cobbles
I waited for the sunrise
in search of locks to hook to rod iron.
and Darling,
did you know,
at 3 AM the immigrants of Africa
gather the waterfront and improv their heritage?
They drum and sing, calling dance to all those passing by.
We danced.
And darling,
we kissed on the Rhine.
Desperate to change the flow from south to north
so we could corral a small boat
and end at Oktoberfest.
Oh Oktoberfest,
how we drank
and we fought with the vengeance of true love
dripping dark beer and hot tears
and we danced on the tables with thousands of lords and women.
We put our feet in at D-Day
and slept in the generosity of an old french couple.
We spoke with our eyes
we thanked with our smiles.
Claudia is a brain surgeon now.
She doesn't drink and saves the world with a knife.
But Kastin is the same.
So different,
happier,
but the same.
And Zagreb has the best rock 'n roll.
And I dream.
I dream of chain saws and Willy Wonka candy shops.
I dream of sleeping in storage boxes and sliding through ruins.
I wake next to the screaming rage of a homeless Italian.
I wake with a gypsy stealing our shoes.
He is adventurous.
Sometimes in a stupid way.
For once I am the rational one.
He wants Eastern Europe because it's more exciting.
He wants Africa for the zest.
Sometimes, he misses the point.
But every day is an adventure when you are playing music for food.
The hardest part for a vagabond
is adjusting back into society.
I want both worlds.
They are mutually exclusive.
Here I need a phone,
a car,
a job,
and obligations.
There we had no one's time but our own.
It's easier,
but so much harder.
I want to hitchhike to Seattle.
Or at least pick up a traveler.
But convenience is so easy and
I can't find anyone to give a ride to.
Even on Thanksgiving.
I think I left part of myself in Europe.
On the port of Barcelona where my feet gave out and I left the party.
Walking home in the rain when your too damn tired.
When I was there, all I wanted was pancakes and coffee.
Now,
my wanderlust is like a fever.
And,
I will always be crashing at 4 a.m.
after bottles of two euro wine.
I will never loose myself completely.
Love,
Always
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