Listen to this poem, set to music, performed by tony, as you read. (opens a new tab)
I remember sitting on the stools
by the window, painted window.
I chewed a salad, onion rings; you, french fries
sucked down a coke.
The sky was watercolors and ash. Mottled
grey and dark and light.
When there is nothing left to say,
we can always talk about the weather.
And the sky is always there.
Always moving, always changing,
smiling, frowning, crying. Screaming.
Always the same sky.
We lit up cigarettes
whose grey breath falls upwards
drips into the liquid sky.
We watch people come and go
back and forth and to and fro…
Smoke circling our heads
twisting and falling and twirling
and bleeding into the same sky.
I look into the round, dark part of your eyes.
Reflections of the twisted, circling smoke,
and the people passing by,
coming once, returning, circling back.
Staring blankly or distracted
walking in circles.
Circling like smoke and twisting
the beautiful ones
the hungry and unsatisfied
A world that spins
A world that revolves
A world that falls apart
is no world at all.
© tony baldwin
art of tony baldwin - a book of poetry and art