elegy
(in memory of victor esteban celeiro)
noir coffee spilled over the newspaper
we talked for hours, jobless hours
about borders, coups and the icelandic landscape
jef costello was brought into the conversation,
combed hair and smart suit – holding a gun,
bluish stare over greyish glare
the talk went on at full tilt,
it was writ large all over us
that old films and faraway countries
wouldn’t bring us any new prospects
(though there’s no denying that hugo
barrett has set a table before us sometime in 63)
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