Singularity

Say what you will

but the miracle 

of our secret selves

the pattern of our burning

cannot be copied

the bloom, the explosion of petals

may blossom from the same bush

but the year and the hour are unique

and once they have passed

we will never possess

the same flower again

we will never touch its petals

nor breathe it’s sweet scent

it will be lost forever

maybe there are 

thousands of girls

unsheathing their black eyeliner 

rolling their fishnet stockings

over the knee

ready to dig their heels 

into the sides of death

because it’s a way of 

choosing the direction of their flight

when they are powerless 

just like there are thousands 

of cynical bastards

renouncing the gods

believing in nothing 

why do you think 

this is not the melody 

of the same song that each of us sings

in the dark pub where the words

of eternity have been scrawled

by drunken hands over the walls 

where the starlight is guttering 

and the angels weep into their golden ale

seraphic tears dampening

the notes of orange and spice

I urge you to grip

the stem of the flower tight in your hand 

don’t worry about me or about my heart 

for I am healed

and so I seize every instant 

knowing that this is my one chance

to drink the dew hungrily

from the petals of the flower

to run along the river in the dark

before the sun rises and to

mark the spot

where I can capture this singular dawn

which will never come again.