Andy Warhol

I saw a woman on the street today,

And her face reminded me of you, my love.

She smiled the way you did when we shared a can of tomato soup with toast.

Cheap white bread before it made us bloat and ache.

Isn’t it funny how an anonymous moment throws us back,

To a scene we secretly keep in the recess of our soul.

Cheap polaroid snap.

A picture and a pen.

Anonymity can be a blessing,

Or not.

Is it ok to sit where we always have and not traverse the bridge?

Walking over water is such a sweet miracle.

When we first met even the creases on the back of your knees caught my breath.

But now the thought of a knee makes me wince,

And frame me to a younger man who could fall and grin.

Falling again.

What is life?

We laugh and cry,

Born to live and quickly die.

I still dance with my bride and the butterflies,

On a James Taylor roof.

And laugh among the shimmering wings.

Such short lives.

Such blazing beauty.

Are you the one?

My beloved son.

And who is God anyway,

But someone to talk to,

When you have had enough.

Have you had enough?

I never had enough.

Just wanted more until the seams bulged and snapped,

And my family cried.

‘When will he stop?’

And one day I did, but it was too late.

For most,

Not me.

And now I am back,

Listening to Japan,

And the ghosts in the machine.

Then Pitt Street,

to the woman on the street with her crooked smile.

And a careless scarf framing a stunning face.

Just like you.

A screen-print in time.

Do you know I hide my toothpicks?

Just like I hid my Playboy magazines.

Not well but well enough.

Both served a purpose for a man,

Flickering between a phantom and a boy,

With no particular place to go.

Need to read more?

Purchase a copy of One Day, One Life: One Day One Life

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