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 June 2001
2 road poems



Road, 1975 acrylic & ink

Hell Is Within
Hell is Within mp3

                                    for Paul

After road ditch and song

living two fingers to mouth

walking the music dog and

putting her back to sleep,

 

a crooning cruise musician,

itchy finger pricked by the

splinters from woodshed,

fat-lip bruised by the reed,

 

fascinated an American

who planted gardenias,

at last grew a fine bloom

worn to a Sunday social

 

by a preacher's daughter,

was dropped into my horn

died dumped swept aside

until thirty one years later

 

when a blind iridescent

spirit rose in the sax bell

and floated out forever

through cruelty of mind.

 

Fountain of self abuse,

my music, my monster

woodwind that snakes

between eaves and alley,

 

is there no wisdom able

to reach this utter depth,

that hell within oneself

where roses still shine? 


 

Road Dreams and Light

 

Hospital white

front porch yellow

traffic light green

door exit red

police station blue

grow light violet

street lamp tangerine

 

In the mild orange aura

of a parking lot scene

we explore insomnia,

me, a numberless blonde

and the lot attendant who

sold tickets until dawn

(in real life a shaman).

 

We smoke the white moments,

watching them drift from view,

spending the last tingle

of my stage music afterglow

caressing lips on a half

pint of tequila gold.

 

All is smooth and naked

youthful as neon pumpkins,

while the harsh make-up of night

blooms like a deadly flower, sooty

smelling of hamburger dives.

 

The parking lot man turned

Shaman, in his glint eye, shows

me a cafe with my name on it,

near-death gasp rolled up in it,

just a one-more-for-the-road dream

and all its lights, mighty enough

to skyrocket Buddha’s heaven

or some non-being in between.

 

I forget who the music is

when people turn inside out,

spilling their omens, curses,

cries from the highest floor,

trapped there by their wishes.

 

I forget what the music is for,

how I pass between what sounds

like my soul among the dead

and what passes for a brave man.

 

So now, poet, dream it up, 

a whole road lined with dreams

and all the light it takes

to spell out my empty name,

both the shattered one and

the one I put back together,

as you scat this urban joint,

your floozy heart day-glowing.

 

Street lamp tangerine

grow light violet

police station blue

door exit red

traffic light green

front porch yellow ...

 

You can wake up now,

its hospital white.


 

Jimmy Warner, © 2016





Volume 11

Zodiac Seriies



Shockoe
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