Andover Avenue (Landmark)

[Phil Rose]

The painter's hand falls to the floor
The writer hangs his hat behind the door
The peasant wears his sadness inside the creases of his cheek
The children run between hope and hate
The clock and the car are running late
Papa's beautiful dream fell like a winter star

All traces of an embrace are absent from the scultors lips
The orange box dreams of my self-portrait
have fallen from an elusive canvas
Dark clouds of secret mystery
hang beneath a false summer sky

I wonder why you have enflamed my life
with your gift and your curse
Why do my eyes see
that which your eyes turn blind?
Why is my heart pierced and broken
by the arrow of forgotten passion?
And who drank from a cup of ancient wine?
Who has watched the candle flame flicker
and die on the pity of a silent wall?

As time floats lonely by
the only thing lying next to my head on the pillow
is a silent strand of moonlight
that rests on my shoulder
Who was there to comfort me when my heart was stolen?
Who was embarrassed by my old photograph?
Who sat at my piano and, with fragile fingers,
wrote my epitah?

Where is Julianna with the sunken dress, her cheeks like a hitchhiker,
carrying her portfolio under her barren armpit?
And who stole the truth from the world?
The beast is signing autographs
Yet still the actor is the author
Who has slept in the bosom of the fair haired widow
while thinking of sex in the bathroom with her daughter?

Who cast the loser in the starring role?

Now rain pours down on Andover Avenue
It falls upon the Gypsey market
Where are my friends in the auditorium?
The ones that are built with bricks of wealth
that cannot build shelter for the poor
Their wives sleep in the beds of generals
while soldiers die too cheap

Whose shadow stands behind the stranger on Bleak Hill?

Who's heart has been broken?

Lady of Vermont, where is your moonlight?
Why do you wear your winter coat on the dawn of summer?

I can't bend down to reach for my working shoes
It doesn't matter anyway, the factory gates are closing

Why am I naked and all alone?
Where is my company?
Why is my heart torn like paper?

Where is the lover with the golden breasts
on whose flesh the sailor was raised?
Why was her womb so beautiful
yet rejected by every man who laid beside her?

On whose fingerprint shall I protest?

Andover Avenue
I am your servant
I am your master
I am you slave
I am your dictator
I am your Iron bell
I am your sea-sick sailor
I am your voice
I am your shadow
I am your mute
I am your thought
I am blind
I am your ocean
I am your life
I am your death
I am your love
I am your hate
you are the light by which I see
I am you and you are me
You are the landmark
That saved me from the swirling sea