A Letter from a Cafe in Dublin
Alencia Lysander

R2.

Naufrage
Alencia Lysander

The air is dank in Dublin, blue billows of smog
Slither down the streets and crawl, capacious curves,
The desperately blind alleyways. I'm sitting at the Café
Rouge, detesting smoke by the cup
Of tea, just spiked with bloody wine, the wretch
Of a tepid drink keeps my mind
Hazy, my glance is hazy, glazy, fogged...

Jog my memory, run down to
The Place de la Rue, up the pivoting arch
By the big glass walls, where the sinuous crystal
Falls, blue glass on the streets, falls
(And in windows the China and scrawls
In obsidian halls); jolt me and pen in my memory

The measure of my lustful jaunts.
-- I've been staring at those two
Jiggling, unevenly dressed, crossed
Legs for what seems to be hours, finer than smoothed sand
And more rippling with meat, beginnings of hair and darker
than sun-brewed Arabian hands -- by two bulging
Pecs, near the rising steam of express.

O, Blue eyes like meridian twilights and pupils
As dark as the beach-lights are bright,
My spy-glass kaleidoscope dazzles your diamonds
But far from the waters, black wastes of the shore.

R1.

The air is dank in Dublin, blue billows of smog
Slither through the streets, crawl, capacious curves,
The desperately blind alleways. I'm sitting at the Cafe
Rouge, detesting smoke by cups of tea
Just spiked with bloody wine, the wretch
Of a tepid drink keeps my mind
Hazy, my glance is hazy, clouded, fogged...

Jog my memory, run over Place de la Rue, the pivoting arch
By the big glass walls, where the sinuous crystal
Falls and glass on the streets, falls and in windows and
China and scrawls
On obsidian walls; jolt me and pen in my memory

The measure of my lustful jaunts.
-- I've been staring at those two
Jiggling, unevenly dressed, crossed
Legs for what seems to be hours, finer than smoothed sand
And more rippling with muscles, beginnings of hair (and darker
Than sun-brewed Arabian sands), and by two bulging
Pecs the rising steam of express. O, Blue eyes like meridian twilights and pupils
As dark as the beach-lights are bright, but far from the waters, the wastes of the shore.

O.

The air is dank in Dublin, blue billows of smog
Slither through the streets, crawl, curvaceous curves,
The desperately blind alleways. I'm sitting at the Cafe
Rouge, detesting smoke by cups of tea
Just spiked with bloody wine, the wretch
Of a tepid drink keeps my mind
Hazy, my glance is hazy, clouded, fogged...

Jog my memory, run over Place de la Rue, the pivoting arch
By the big glass walls, where the sinuous crystal
Falls and glass on the streets, falls and in windows and China and scrawls
On obsidian walls; jolt me and pen into my memory

The measure of my lustful jaunts. -- I've been staring at those two
Jiggling, unevenly dressed, crossed
Legs for what seems to be hours finer than smoothed sand
And more rippling with muscles, beginnings of hair (and darker
Than sun-brewed Arabian sands), and by two bulging
Pecs the rising steam of express. O, Blue eyes like meridian twilights and pupils
As dark as the beach-lights are bright, but far from the waters: the wastes of the shore.