Frankfurt A to Z

20180304_163403.jpgThat pneumatic pulse
The hi/lo wail on a yellow van
The stoic expressions and forced smile
Of a staunch upright German man
Who blinkblinks too much
Over his bright yellow scarf
And sprayed on Orange tan

The fullness of the smells
Of pretzels mustard and meat tubes
Sneaks behind the headaches, fuels wafting sweat of gate changing fools

Clack clack of suitcase wheels
Mad dashers and those who chill
Each pestering the other with looks
We all came to leave the flights
Are all booked

The elderly trying to remove their shoes
The young tugging crying for toy planes
The salesmen imbibing their blues
Drinking in another method to be away

Travelling. how I medicate
A half a pill of enthusiasm
Up to and until too late
It’s just another groundhogs day

The adrenaline of go away frowns
Wakes me up to bring me down
To land in your forgotten towns
Weary old pieces of me
that touch the ground

I stand on the walkway
Pondering runway lights
I couldn’t stay more than
Well. maybe a few nights
In any one place where
your loved ones die
Just let me through to
look down upon static lives
Please pass to the left

Because for me. Its not right.



singing Wonderwall in the rain
hoisting up our heffeweiss
we stangers made a pact in pain
clouds hide the moon’s first quarter slice

you could have taken the train
would not have paid the winter river’s price
before the bridge I’d blame the weather
it must be so cold under Neckar’s ice
you can’t warm your bones with Hasenpfeffer
after the Eiswein pulled the wheel to the right

wrapped up like maultaschen another runner in the night

Thinking there is a point to find is as pointless as to find life

your crowd only wanting each other
ways to fill voids in their own hollow lives
singing away memories smothered
waking up a new day and old Schwabian housewives

the pre-chorus naive and so full of trust
I envy you who leave before jaded by lust

into the black forest a boar
looks back over his snout
digs it up in the mud
by the river to the south
a backstage pass on his tusks
mystery of this poem in his mouth

you could have taken the train
you’d not be wrapped now in the hearse
it was beautiful to sing in the rain
The Backbeat starts, second verse