The Crime of Fate

Will the angels sing When the old matador stares down his final bull? Knowing that his dance Of death’s fine procession Grows ever more still? And sooner or later the sword Will miss its mark? And will those angels know their song is for no one at all? Or will they put down a 50 spot on the bull? 2 Those angels know there is no score keeper What is this any way, A goddam baseball game After all only silence echoes through the empty stadium Where there was never a ticket punched And the Dodgers never received The Brooklyn cheer. And the angels? They are cheap subway preachers Who have learned to live on their knee. 3 I know you pine for an anxious city that haunts every song you stole, without its ghosts. They (the ghosts) are why radio exists. Of course New York no longer thinks like Paris and only the roaches now cheer for all the empty units. What is left for these ghosts to do but to place their bets at the OTB on races that have already run, and waving tickets already punched and expired? You will never learn how to shift the way you walk in a city that no longer has its own gravity. I've learned to let my body dissolve into the darkness of the movie theater as a means of leaving this place to escape when everyone around gets too close like blind cave fish unware of distance. Its a trick taught by Hindus when the blood runs dry according to the tv.