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Brisbane Street Sketch 3

Treasury Casino, 3:03 am. Monday morning.

 

Casino bars shut at  3:00 am in QLD.

 

 

I missed a place to sleep by 9 minutes.

My timing is impeccable.

 

2 hours to **** until the last train home.

 

An older man in a slate suit enters stage right.

Crosses.

Disappears.

Reenters stage left with  brass buttons

lit up like embers.

 

The 9 network wants me to buy

stonedine frying pans.

And warns me about harmful gasses that have killed household budgies.

 

I wish I was more interesting.

 

You havent lived

until you've seen a man blow a pancake

off a frying pan.

Onto a plate.

 

----

 

3:12 am.

 

Late night bar personnel work in silence

cleaning beer nozzles and coffee machines.

They wander in and out of the scene under sophisticated lighting.

 

I wonder what to do about you, and what I'm feeling.

What our  hold on each other is and when (if) the sword of Damocles will fall.

Is this truly tragedy to which we are destined?

I shudder to think.

And for this am I classed by the title

"coward"

or

"lover"?

 

----

 

3:20 am - Existentialism strikes a vicious blow. No coup de grace.

 

The blackjack dealer on the $15  table has a gorgeous face that makes me wonder how her body feels on a post ****** morning. Satisfied and relaxed, taut through anticipation of further pleasure?

Straight raven tresses frame a heart shaped face that peers over the ridge of a white collared shirt, sprouting from beneath a black vest, tight at the elbows.

She deals with deft machine-gun efficiency. Not all bullets hit their mark here.

 

Her back curves with natural elegance down to a tight, young *** The shape of  it magnified by the black business pants writes itself as a factory on my mind. Light hands would fit well there, one on each cheek, her mouth open seductively, trading  tastes and sensations.

 

There is a dying rose in my lapel.

It's sad.

I contemplate leaving it somewhere poetic but  cant think of a place.

The thorns are still sharp.

 

----

 

3:45 am

 

The only place where time is invincible

is a place  where it is hidden.

Casino's are such a place.

Here time cannot be killed.

Yet I have smuggled it in.

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Written by
lysander-gray
Australian
Published
May 22, 2013
Lines·Words
48·377
Notes

I was trapped in Brisbane one evening from 'round midnight till 6am and kept a journal of my experiences, thoughts and rambles of the night in a stream of consciousness style.

Part 1: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-1/

Part 2: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-2/

Part 4: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-4/

Part 5: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/brisbane-street-sketch-5/

Permission

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