Foreign Streets

I creep out into the night,
I tread these tires slowly, quietly,
And head for my romance affair with the streets,
These foreign streets.

Oh this is so marvelous,
Their glittering lamps seduce me,
Come hither, a little more, and I do,
Their lines animate me, enact me,
Forward, forward more still, wait and see
Their streetlights lap up my face and body,
Again and again we glide across each other.

The song comes on, rings,
Caresses my ears and lips and neck,
The one about L.A.,
And whispers sweet nothings,
That only a spouse romancer could,
We can do this, we were meant to be,
Don't you worry, just stay with me in this place.

The tires roll off the satin sheet bed,
I grip the wheel to maneuver the asphalt,
The light commands me to stop, I have been here,
The breaks are stiff and weak and scrape,
I pull in to the driveway,
Which taste of ash, reeks of Tilex,
I exit.

The ancient boy is awaiting me at the door, he knows,
He shows me my relic scribbles, still fresh with his crayon snow,
Oh you genius, oh you bastard,
When will you die, you and your foreign streets?