This one, in a sense, plays off the stolen Du Fu poem I posted yesterday evening.
Chubby Checker – The Twist
Do the Twist (a late July night)
A late July night. The air is still. The rain
earlier only made the air heavier, thicker.
The clouds have gone. I lean at the window,
measuring all my regrets, sorting them in
strands long enough to braid into a rope to
throw over the moon, slow down the years.
I would ask you to hold the far end of each
strand—between the two of us I’m sure
we could find a way to twist it up real good—
but it’s only three thousand miles to where you
sit waiting for the same moonlight to spill over
you that freezes my tears on this windowsill.
Tom Waits – Shore Leave