The Pleasuredome's

POETRY PAGE

By Mats Hellgren

The familiar hot aroma sorrounds my nostrils
like constellations of roasted clouds
while my newly won friend in misery, anchors his soul
in another wet breath from his glass.
Pastry, cevepcici, smoke and beer from
the Croatian melange of cafe' and bar.

I wish for revival while he seeks numbness.
My feet seek direction on unfamiliar foreign ground.
He seeks direction amidst the dwindles of his life.

I drain my lobes, searching ways to remember-
the number to my rescue.
My friend drains his desperate mind to forget-
the way to his house.
I seek salvation in a lasrge cup of coffee,
my friend, though, he orders more tonic and gin.

As the warm liquid covers my tongue like
lava sippers from a volcanoe,
the heat burns numbers into my mind
209-5034-86749
Like curled glow-worms the numbers
crawl across the inside of my relieved forehead.
"How's your drink?" I asked. I had a compass of
numbers to lead my steps.

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