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letra de helsinki, 1993 - cannonball statman

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he is a water man;

he lives between two worlds
on the rusty train

you see him in the parklot of the mallmart
in a light snow, under the moon

you take off your whole shirt at once
and you say you’ll take his ashes with you
in your cup

it’s cold tonight
(it’s winter)
so he takes you in a boat to his apartment
and defrosts you with his hands

his serpentine body pulls up to you
undercover
and you’re resting in the branches
of a tule tree

he teases you with a window
into your living eyes
or a guided tour of the sleepy port city
in the middle of the night
where he lives
he takes off all his clothes
he puts on a suit and tie;

he takes off all his clothes
and kisses the clouds in his window
with his lavender lipstick on
and he laughs

he takes off all his clothes
except for a pair
of his turquoise colored underwear;

they match the ocean
the sky sometimes
and the rims of his glasses
he left on a pillow
by your right cheek

he makes a fresh pot of coffee
for everybody
and screams in sacred fractals
and new york city subway train hallucinations;

his neighbors are all synesthetes
and they can see everything
while they’re sleeping
his body is cold
until it’s not;

he places his face under the sheets
and l!cks your legs with his hot tongue
bathing in black coffee
fresh from the pot

he kisses you gently
with his tongue in your mouth
and yours in a river;

he made it, before he was born
in his sleep

he dances around his apartment
to the song of the lonely streetlamp

he files his nails
like shaved ice
melting on pink sand
on a beach
in gemini season
in the evening;

and he takes you to see the shipwrecks
his body is cold
(it’s winter)

he says he wishes there were
a 24 hour diner
you could walk in, together
have a fresh pot of coffee
watch the local politicians
scream at television
with their brains off

and you might even have a chat
with the waitress
about psychedelic drugs and life;

but you’re going to the shipwrecks

you say you saw your father
through a window in the local morgue
the other day
staring, lobotomized, blankly
near the corner of a wall;

you were surprised to see anyone you knew
in this town
except your water man
who you always see
wherever you are

he holds his hand
with his hand
in the palm
and takes you to the shipwrecks

you can see his breath like a rainbow
under a bossanova street lamp
on the ground

you take turns sipping
his purple hot chocolate mug
with english tourist accents on deck
in case a cop spots your open container

the mug is all painted
with black lipstick stains
from his past life

he says he still does magic
with it sometimes
but only for good

you crawl into the ship together
and stare through the clouds in the window
at a waxing moon
next to the skeleton of the captain

you say you saw the captain
through a window in the local morgue
the other day
staring, lobotomized, blankly
near the corner of a wall;

you were surprised to see anyone you knew
in this ship
except your water man
who you always see
wherever you are

he holds his hand
with his hand
in the palm
and you’re warm again

he takes off all his clothes
and his glasses
and stares through the clouds in the window
into the water

he sees sedna’s fingers faintly
swimming around down there
and he cries

you embrace him with your body
and your arms all around him
and you kiss him on the lips three times

and you whisper in his ear
with your saltw-ter soul
spilling down your cupbearer heartroads
into the infinite black:

“it’s almost over.”

- cannonball statman

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