In starry circles elevated

at Olympian floors

I have hyperventilated

on excursionary tours,

beheld our images dilated

in mementoes and encores

as we bathed intoxicated

behind visionary doors.

All things become outdated

given time enough, of course,

and my feet drag to the drum

now that I am numb.

 

With a fluency of language

(unintelligible babble)

I spoke ecstasy and anguish

to uncomprehending rabble.

I'd renovate the damaged

carried to me from the battle

and deconstruct their baggage,

hoist them back into the saddle.

But the eloquence has vanished

and the road is too well travelled;

shellshock has struck me dumb

now that I am numb.

 

I played the part of Casanova

when possessing the charisma

with a hand up your pullover

and an eye upon my finger

as it fastened to your shoulder,

as it waited for the whisper

that implored me to be bolder.

Since the fall has welcomed winter

and the blood is running colder

so I dither and malinger

in the fear that I can't come

now that I am numb.