'Round Midnight
In the book I’m reading: hard rain,
spike heels on pavement,
a man waiting in a rented room
spike heels on pavement,
a man waiting in a rented room
to draw a woman down onto his bed.
She’s the wrong woman,
she’s a car wreck in a silk dress
She’s the wrong woman,
she’s a car wreck in a silk dress
and he can’t wait to touch her.
No plot without desire,
the more desperate the better.
No plot without desire,
the more desperate the better.
I look up to find that here, too,
it’s raining. And now that I’m back
in my own quiet life
it’s raining. And now that I’m back
in my own quiet life
I feel like a character who’s barely
been imagined yet, just a name
wearing a faded T-shirt,
been imagined yet, just a name
wearing a faded T-shirt,
reaching for her glass of cold wine.
If only the river would surge into the streets,
if only a tree would uproot itself
If only the river would surge into the streets,
if only a tree would uproot itself
or the roof fly off in a funnel of black wind.
Such is my life: A minute ago I was happy,
immersed in a book. Now I feel misery
Such is my life: A minute ago I was happy,
immersed in a book. Now I feel misery
only violence could cure. Now
I have to invent a story
to drag me out into the city,
I have to invent a story
to drag me out into the city,
toward music and grainy light
and the wrong men, I have to discover
what it is that I want
and the wrong men, I have to discover
what it is that I want
And who I’m going to have to hurt to get it.
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