ON ST. MARY�S STREET

i am awakened by the sound
of a specter blindly shrieking
in the early morning darkness
to a pantheon of people
who left him far behind
in the pricelessly placid stillness
enshrouding the black empty air
outside my window
    on st. mary’s street

sleep my newfound lover
crept away while i was lying
with my face to the wall
inspecting infertile phantoms
which danced to her sad singing
in the early morning darkness
unaware of her quick dressing
and the turning of the knob until
i heard her shoe’s soft shuffle
scratching solid slanting sidewalk
echoing in the ebony ether
outside my window
     on st. mary’s street

i know there are only moments
untilgarbage trucks are growling
and the distant siren cries
like a childish tattletale
exposing crime or death or fire
and a car alarm is barking
at the unholy presence
of a drunken spirit drifting
down the now lonely corner
of the once crowded noble pavement
outside my window
     on st. mary’s street

i’m ensnared in my room
like a soul in a tired body
and i entreat the gloom
asking favors from fiery photons
piercing the callous concrete cushion
draining the silent sable vacuum
as i swoon from the wound
gangrenously consuming
my once regal but now barely beating heart
i am entombed in my womb with hardwood floors
and a view of four corners making love
outside my window . . .