There is a train trestle
that crossed a black river
at the edges of my childhood home.
(near a smog factory
There was strange graffiti.
including the word SCHNACKI
so very provocative in it’s mystery.
(painted by hash flayers
or opium eaters?)
And tags that could be deemed: Satanic.
(I’d very much like to hear
you pronounce Satanic)
Years later I returned there
And it was the same
Only dark and abandoned
I had a bottle of liquor in one hand
And a lit spliff in my mouth
Dressed in the height of fashion
Fully clothed I dove into the depths of the black river reaching forth/reaching forth
(Surfacing from a dark eternity
I could feel the Satanic graffiti)
I have never been Satanic...
I surfaced as a 007 agent of the strange and fantastic