Stand by Me

David St. John

When the solace of angels is named, 

 When the winds blister the academy, 

 When the first lesions of winter light 

 Scrawl their paths across the black sheet 

 Of the bed beneath the skylight, 

 When the algebras of my past repeat 

 Themselves drunkenly on into the night, 

 When the lemon peels twist 

 At the edge of the porcelain saucer, 

 When the door is closed behind me, 

 When the stilettos all stand at attention 

 The moment I step onto the subway, 

 When my future's looking dim, 

 Stand by me 

                     no matter 

 The declensions of light along the shore, 

 No matter the new color of my hair, 

 No matter the tattoo I've solicited 

 In a bar fight over nothing, 

 No matter the earrings on the dresser top, 

 No matter the motion of my body against yours 

 Breaking its own rainbow, 

 No matter what, 

                           stand by me; 

 If some innocent misanthropy unties me 

 From my new suede shoes, 

 If the many travellers within me all 

 Depart together, or if the one who's most 

 Rude & surly returns to you alone, 

 If every word I've lifted with such effort 

 Hangs in its residue of ash, 

 If there's still some consequence in this, 

 Stand by me; 

                      after the music 

 Rasps its way out of my chambered bones, 

 After the shuffle I'm famous for is reduced 

 To nothing but the white tracings 

 Of shoes on a sidewalk, 

 Numbered 1, 2, & 3 ... 

 After the legato which will leave me alone, 

 After the third day of prolonged applause, 

 After the newscasters impress upon me 

 The transitory nature of all earthly fame, 

 After my make-up begins to run like 

 Stigmata in the shadow of the klieg lights, 

 After the night before the night 

 You decide it really isn't 

 Worth it anymore, 

                              stand by me; 

 Because the antiphony of my conscience 

 Has become quite enough, 

 Because you remember me believing 

 Whatever it was that I believed, 

 Because it's getting late no matter which 

 Country, heart or clock we consult, 

 Because the outfield is moving in, 

 Because even the women on the Pirelli 

 Calendar are looking grim, 

 Because everyone has to forgive someone, 

 Because I miss you & it matters, 

 Because no one else wears the morning 

 Quite so well, stand by me, please; 

 Stand by me.