Indian Summer

I wander wide-eyed 
retraced drunken paths, 
footprints embedded 
in wet cement. 
  
Old structures block the sky. 
Cheap movie sets 
cursed with the work 
of a 20 year siesta. 
  
I with no fight, face the urge 
to say good-bye with the inglorious finger 
until my gasping lungs 
wrestle me to the ground. 
  
I smile in the hornet´s nest. 
I´ll not die your death 
you suffer through 
painfull and slow. 
  
I am the phoenix; your phoenix 
rising from the madness 
of your excess 
you suffocate under. 
  
She waits for me 
while your chest crushes 
under the wieght of austerity 
and childish delusion. 
  
She is there 
with her eyes closed, 
lips pressed agianst the air 
leaning into me 
  
in the park 
with a billion lights 
Behind the crumbling mountain 
along the autumn coast.