crocodile shaped anything

Bryan Ferry croons from the back corner of the night of this night this very night echoing wistful ennui all shimmery and deep by way of heavenly tomes teetering dusty towers of literature and thirsty gulps of smiling moonlight simple like the surface of a lake or navigating the lines in the palm of your elderly grandmother's hand the illuminated pages flitter like leaves the pages blow and shake they are leaves of paper sheaves of paper leave your bookmark made of the skin of every love you nearly gave behind let it drop first to the surface then sinking slowly thoughtfully pulsing with something our book of brilliant things writ strong as black tea no honey let it shine loud and brash, the antithesis of aforementioned crooning some say we can't do it it can't be done together or separate for a very long time but I say our fast moving train has already circumnavigated 90% of our squirming brains our souls sometimes touching like palms pressed to indifferent glass the mirrorball twirls above us making all kinds of promises giggles of light turning and refracting like tiny flying crocodile the song goes curling spangled and sublime.