Pink City

bad boy scouts wearing red bandannas & hiking boots prowl the outdoor bars bringing alpine airs to ljubljana - i won't be climbing the steps to the castle won't conquer what's not even there (the view the haze) instead i'll walk around photographing pink buildings for you ... do you remember that cold afternoon at sheherezade after the mallarme gig? i can see why you liked it here where the boys ride bicycles & sit by the river smoking long whites joints - & even sparrows sport beckham spikes & boys bum cigarettes from strangers for a lark - i missed primoz by two weeks but there's poetry here in the inventiveness of the street performers or the flowers on the cobblers' bridge ... i know that somewhere here there's a boy you once loved if even for that one short visit - it's summer & all the pastel's aglow despite the crumbling flaking skins i can hear you & only wish these few photographs could capture their audible decline - the boys whose hair alone makes me feel so much older & so much younger than even this breathless poem ever could