I am Edgar Allen Poe, Jackson Pollack, and Jack Kerouac rolled into one tightly wrapped Cuban cigar. A bit short of a disaster and on the presapus of destruction,
Concrete, steel and glass on every boxed corner and hill, parking a commodity and the summer’s sun burning intently on the pitch black macadam beneath our feet.
Was that a wink and then the piano began playing an old gospel blues song from so long ago, so far in my past and down a lonely dirt road in a place where sour weed we chewed and the cicada sang in th
Into, I walked out Discovered, I hide. Told to wait, But ran instead, Never settled, I’d always fled. In this time today soon cast, Blind in youth my fate soon past, Once deaf,