I ripped out of the old tavern
Into my coat indigo so torn 'n worn
And traveled under the porticoes of a billion fantastic stars
To celebrate this marvelous November night

In the labyrinth of bricks and stones
I hum and whistle the Irish song
How exquisite it is, my peripatetic existence
That midnight train will certainly know

My treasured beret from a thrift shop spins in my hand
My feet bubble off the cobblestone like soda pops
I trail along the bridge over a canal
Under the crescent moon following me like a cop

A pocket change rolling, bikes uninhabited, and lampposts perpetual
A rolled cigarette wantonly leaning between my sticky lips
Autumnal dews wet my forehead like spiriting wine
And while, scarf blowing, boots tattered,
I raise my odalisque eyes heavenward;
The world pixelates above my moist eyes
Like a seabed of jewelry stars