The Bluesman\’s Killing Floor

Blue Bardman

This is where my poems and writing reside:

Must Keep Thinking©

Beat on the brat resounds in my head Ramones pale shadows along gray winter
Feet surfing carefully through a sea of broken wine bottles and Coney Island whitefish, not wanting to alight on any of them
Diamond dust mixed into the concrete causing splendor-filled sparkles that explode in my eyes like a million flash bulbs
Blinded by the light now, no where to hide orphaned brother of sister midnight

All-night diners meat racks for the socially bereft and sufferering insomniacs
Druggies go there seeking shelter and gaze at lit cases with rainbows of jello and pies made of clouds inside of them.
Poor harried women named :Joyce” scurry about pouring coffee for people named “hon”
I tire of this place but it’s bitter cold outside-my only solace is fresh fallen snow, not yet defiled by dog shit or soot.

I am king of the “great now,” I roam the city alone-both transcendent and untouchable
Even the packs of famished stray dogs don’t dare give me a second look now
Ahead is one of many old Reformed church graveyards headstones in various stages of decay
Van Gessels and Van Heerden’s but nary a Rembrandt in this lot, the night is theirs under their proud snowy blanket

Where are the dreams to keep me awake now, I wonder?
Wind talks back to me through the remnants of dead leaves clinging to skeleton-like branches
The sound they make more intelligible to me than that produced by the newest wave of immigrants washing up on these shores
I like it at this moment, at this time and in this way

Nature won the Battle for me, no switchblade or bad hard look needed
Simple attrition due to bitter cold, a warm body to rub against, being entertained by rats dancing within the apartment walls.
Kept warm by Cuban supers making sure the boiler is filled to the brim with Whale oil
Lone-wolfing without a howl, smiling so wide deep inside it makes me cry for an eternity, if not a day

No subways, just feet causing me to glide across the big stage in the big city, Fred and Ginger long at rest
Seeing every breath I exhale I add smoke into the mix, it warms me and keeps my hands and mouth busy
Art done by me only, appreciated by me only, experienced by me only lasting no longer than Mayflies
Though all is still around me, inside me freight trains roar, guided by unbridled thoughts hurtling up to the stars

It must be the angels smiling back, the snow is their tears of happiness shed upon me to show their love
Now my cigarette smoke is incense and prayers before the aliens
Their ship hidden in the 3/4 moon follows me along on my trek
My thoughts help keep them floating, orbiting, levitating were I to stop they would surely plummet to the earth reeking havoc, causing war and pestilence-must keep thinking

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