heaven in manhattan

the devil was screaming for a duet partner.
and since my finger can play a sinner’s cord quite well
'twas i who crawled into the dirt
and came out on the other side upside down
and filled with a malicious rhythm.

if it were a seemingly normal tuesday
and you were walking the streets on manhattan
in that red dress,
in those black paten leather shoes,
with the mean city strut,
and a upper east side lean,

would you expect heaven in manhattan?

i saw with sane insanity
that this heaven was delivered when his piano,
fell into the middle of the street.
his fingers roamed those keys like
a lion would roam a womans body, the whole street froze.

a p.o.w among citizens i stole quietly in and out of the
masses and poured the daily libations on
each good man’s head
until they were sufficiently drenched and
inconceivable inaudible
all muttering furiously
panicked at the apparent lack of mobility.

six notes let them go and
like flies they scurried
past the piano and out of site,
he watched with heavy eyes,
flickering with vague amusement,
indeed i’ve believe i’ve struck a nerve in the devil himself.
leaving the gutter spirits
to lap the vodka from the cement,
he left the piano to try his luck with our courtship.