Wednesday, May 27, 2015

Reverie (While Listening To Miles Davis)

We master our own illusions.
We talk in code to ourselves.
We hide our faces.

We put our armor on in the dark.
We don’t waste our time with mirrors.
Instead we wander within the silver linings of our own reverie. 


A child plays with a purple dinosaur in a sandbox;
he imagines worlds from long ago
(now vanished if they ever existed at all).
 

We hear a voice.
It is our own.
We no longer sleep with the dead.

The night makes everything whole again.
The stars peek out at us from behind a curtain.
They see us before we see them.




Tuesday, May 19, 2015

For BB King





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(for Riley B. King)


He heard the wail of a train
He heard the sound of the rain.
He heard his mother cry:
“Blues Boy, why do you roam
so far from your home?”
With dust in his eyes,
he looked up at the sky:
“I can tell you only this.
I’ll find my way to Heaven.
I’ll build a bridge to bliss.”
Blues Boy, why do you roam
so far from your home?

One day, illness and age
carried him away.
With sleep in his eyes,
he looked up at the sky:
“I can tell you only this.
I’ll find my way to Heaven.
I’ll build a bridge to bliss.”
Blues Boy, why do you roam
so far from your home?
I can say only this.
You made your way to Heaven.
You built a bridge to bliss.