| Watrerfront Watch
smoke, sky trails.
the tug turns, squirms,
then steers upriver.
the wheat has to move.
but with all that commotion,
you’d think a warship was out there.
today no sun.
the somber air is thick.
I watch a gull poke blood thirsty
into the glistening waves.
the clouds sense my tumult.
in life nothing dies easy.
our vessel broke,
slammed into the rocks,
cracked apart in a dark rain.
what could we salvage?
all we could do was
watch it reach bottom.
today dockside,
the gravelly air offers a strange peace.
the cool breeze kisses me.
I seek the truths that were in
those harsh days and cries,
but I probably won't find them.
we died piecemeal.
but today I feel a new gait,
a changing eye.
I flash on a red skirt right ahead of me.
interesting. those shiny buttons
are like colored roses.
she's tall. I like those curls.
our eyes meet. our thoughts crisscross.
what's she thinking?
she's picture perfect loveliness.
yeah, my cover story has changed.
the good fire has grazed my lips
and I smell pasta.
yes, I'm back. |
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Elvis
they cried sweet daddy sing,
then crawled towards the stage to get at him.
I was there, lost in the hot sauce.
he hit like a meteorite.
didn't invent rock 'n' roll
but his pink Cadillac eyes,
and greased back hair became engraved
in our wants, our fingers of madness,
America's stately life, our
everyday house and musical soul.
the King of rock 'n' roll kicked a modern nation
out of its drab boots.
still today ghost sightings
and impersonators appear.
last week, downtown,
saw a sign Church Of Elvis
hung by an old brick building.
his glass face glittered.
I recalled our appetite for him.
fans still dance to his unfinished story,
to his blaze, velvet voice, his notes, cries,
confetti, and moonlight sweetness.
I hit the post office that day,
then went back to my little crash pad,
my wicked palatial estate,
a cheap ground floor studio.
within minutes, clad in hot pink,
with bushy sideburns and blue eyes,
a booming figure appeared.
he peered through my tiny window.
lifted his six string, curled his lips
and sang, "That's All Right Mama."
I jumped from my seat. gave chase
but he was gone in a gallop.
I called the press.
they said: " what have you been smoking?"
Graceland said "how old are you. is your mama there? "
Everybody's Music Store said: "get a life."
days later my therapist said:
"next time get his autograph.”
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