Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2005-04-04 12:18:00

Noir

I asked him what it was
that he was looking for,
him with his large hat
and the parody of his cigar,

And he babbled some rubbish
he'd learnt when they gave him the job
(Though, of course, he never saw them.
They are too wily for that.

He had visions and voices, felt
that drive which we all hallucinate.
But they never looked him face to face
Or gave him a roadmap.)

Something about absolute truth,
and, rather inevitably,
the core of the heart of the perftect
artform which expresses and creates perfect
semblances of the first hand experiences we
all experience in our lives
in our experience which we can
barely percieve let alone

His voice faded away automatically as it had started
into the space behind his eyes
to the place where his head ached,
and he knew his lies.

Then, and I'll respect him for this
when they scatter me,
he said something true,
which is hard to manage

with such a stuffed head.
Perhaps it was his hat and his
nicotine-addled lungs and the other symbols,
combining to force sharp witticism

from his bellows-skull,
but that was that.
"We all have to look for something."