Play You A Song
Here comes roaring by that downtown train,
blazing the wounded rails with a thousand sparks flying.
the conductor drunk and blissful beneath that dopamine sun.
I salute, and play a song.
Carrying on through the bricks, the reeds and weeds, I cry in the grass,
laughing mad at some cruel, inside joke into this solemn night.
Wise men arrive, share with me their words
and leave with a nod, smile and stroke of their beards.
So I salute, envisioning my own ghost's haunting place, and I play a song.
Existential nightmares plague my youthful sins and dynamite excursions
into the depth of loneliness and wistful sleeping trees.
The whole world shakes, crumbles, explodes, and reforms within a minute's time.
Overpowering are the drowning notes on this beaten six-string
as they collide head on with the air on this dreaming lion pavalon.
The winds stir something unknown. Whirlpools circle my ears.
The women all come and go, perhaps they speak of Michaelanjelo.
Sharing with me eyes and ears and smiles that lack a place of belonging.
My political world is sign language, my abject is reject
and the very words with which I speak is a forlorn mystery to these hardened,
red-bellied snakes, slithering through the smoke house and back into the parlor.
I cringe, reel, grimace, lean forward and jolt out my lightning upon
the heads of these drunken wanderers of aimless flight.
Their white wings shredded and torn, mine stained black, yet slowly spreading wide.
I write down on paper the infesting nonsense which rolls like a pound of dice in my head
and I play a song.
A band of children dress themselves up as adults, sending smoke rings my way
through the pouring hail and rain that smacks the pavement beneath my feet.
Delighted, I run reborn through the city streets, 'till my heart gives in and I weep, weep,
weep with the willows and the widows.
There and then I think I understand their cold, closed coffin delights.
So I jump over all buildings in my path, shine my light upon the dark alleys
and provide the world with the courage to be mad.
Abnormality my specialty. Indifference my collected difference.
And just to purge the grief from these tired eyes,
allow me to play you this here song.