The beautiful people
they’re not into culture
they’re just into fashion
and dating each other
they’re drinking champagne
toasting civilizations
that wants them, it wants them
in perfect frustration

I noticed a couple
In Denmark, in Paris
both drinking espresso
both barely embarrassed
like a pornography
so soft it barely murmurs
still drinking espresso
far away from all murders
and just out of art school
without interest or passion
during warm afternoons
when desire becomes action

I want them, I want them
I want to be with them
with my bad poetry
and my Euro per diem
I’m not satisfied
with the charms that god gave me
with a life that mistrusts
or a fate that’s mislaid me
I want them, I watch them
cheap trinkets of vision
beyond voyeurism
past my own indecision

Time passes so slowly
spent thinking and waiting
that internal debate
that just keeps debating
you go to the movies
you leaf through the papers
you’ll have to do something
your vision it wavers

They go to the movies
they even enjoy it
their charms own the city
with the way they employ it
in Paris, in London
in every bland airport
with their carry on luggage
and nothing left to report

I want them, I watch them
cheap trinkets of vision
nothing left to offer
not even repetition

I’m not satisfied
with this life that has made me
into a perfect problem
with a fear that’s forbade me
from taking the stage
forever back to the question
of what it all means
and immune to suggestion