Its an end to our graveyard romance – or –
(I always knew there would be a larger part of me that would never want to leave this playful deathbed)
I was in the front seat
feeling my dreams die,
fading into the cold grey mist
that had settled on my life.
with my ripened heart
I watched myself drain
of love and life
my fingers white hard
on the dashboard
head pressed against the windshield
peering to see through
the dark haze
and heavy silence
and I could only make out stone cold
oppressing jagged teeth
posing as dark silhouettes
against the shadowy skyline
The trees were weeping for us
burdened branches touched the earth
and lady night herself wailed
of the solemn hopelessness
of our affair
I sighted my end
in the mirror of her eyes
Circe was channelling my lust
with her wanton beauty
and her presence comforted me
until I realized that you were stone cold
I was caught in an imaginary embrace
that meant not a thing for my fate
the lane leading out of the yard
was long and winding
the car lights hit each tombstone
and reflected an unwelcomed truth
The car itself seemed to be lifted,
ferried out of the darkness and
the spectators sat silent, mere spectators,
to the last rites.
Finally, I could see the gates
through the tears and her sighs
the light shone upon rod iron rails
And we passed by in my Father’s black sedan
our bodies stiff and cold
In the end I will never forget
I could hear the procession music
ever so faintly escaping her lips
as she hummed The Who and something about
you better bet your life.
– Chris George
September 1980