Jeff Alessandrelli

 

 

The Days of Wine & Roses; or An Orphan's Tale    


So the days of wine & roses.
So the days of shaping your idea
of a mother out of a hot meal
cooked over a low fire,

the starlight blindingly blindingly bright
behind you. So water sweats
through the dank dark walls
of the dirty old towns.

Is it better to be deceived
by luminous shadows or luminous flesh
is a question any orphan
might ask. & no matter the destination,

it's easy to outgrow a map.
So the days of wine & roses.
There is much uncertainty beneath
the weight of the starlight's moon.

 

 

 

The Days of Wine & Roses; or An Orphan's Tale 


Whether spoken out loud or written
down & down & down & down & over again,
time is the most used noun in the English language.
I'm a different person now you say 

to yourself & open the refrigerator door to stare
into the sunset, the dirty,
cluttered remnants of a sunset
that was once some strictly regimented tableau.

How long has that been in there? How old is that?
What's in that? How old is that? How—
Accumulation is a reason for &
understanding of disorder.
 
Too many jars & bottles
unidentifiable, vague plastic containers,
fresh vegetables, wilted wilting tinfoil, red red meat.
Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time. Time.

 

 

 

The Days of Wine & Roses; or An Orphan's Tale   


Three Men Carrying a Black Goat
Across the Whitest of Snows
to Nowhere Certain is the title
of a painting I will never see.

Imagine that. I've never seen
my mother's face. She may have
committed suicide simply
by holding her breath.

There's no percentage
in knowing.
"You can't get at a sunset naming colors."
You can't get at a sunset.

I've never seen.
Orphans are bad
with most all memories.
I guess              I don't know.