Here is a Gem
Blues Alteration
Downtown among those lazy-brick buildings
in some moonshine alleyway paved with buffalo hooves,
my mother preaches to a blank-face moon.
She say, "don't you worry babe,
I got 10 to 1 that midnight will have you
center-stage and smiling on Rooftop's Broadway.
And those ancient Romeos and new age Juliets
are gonna grow a rose for every kiss you light up."
I start singing bop licks to blues changes one year;
Got no gravel voice and green git-fingers,
but there's pain in my song.
I start with a slow swing, "Mama, better keep
your baby clean." a la kerouac, and end up swearin
about the one woman who ever qualified as a blue
machine.
I see her in Sedona, riding desert winds on
a harley. Drives her bike off a cliff to catch
a better glimpse of the setting sun and washes up
down-stream in leather hips and a green jacket;
says her name's Susan Bee.
When she smiles it's ivory and marmalade,
when she tosses her hair she's a blazin white birch
in the midst of wildfire.
I wake up one morning in a dandelion field with
her panties tied to my wrist and a note that
reads, "I pawned your guitar for a ride
west, meet me in cognito, love subee.
P.S.
don't forget my underwear, it's the only pair I've got."
The dealer at Su's favorite indian casino is an old
lover. Whenever I come 'round he fraps his felt
just so I know that this is his country.
America built road and rail from ocean to ocean.
While Mexico exhales mariachi and sweats tequila,
my mom rolls dice at a fool's table.
I asked her what love was and she told me, "Boy,
one day a sky without clouds will remind you of a
stage without curtains. But love ain't the moon
or the menagerie, it's the audience."
Downtown among those lazy-brick buildings
in some moonshine alleyway paved with buffalo hooves,
my mother preaches to a blank-face moon.
She say, "don't you worry babe,
I got 10 to 1 that midnight will have you
center-stage and smiling on Rooftop's Broadway.
And those ancient Romeos and new age Juliets
are gonna grow a rose for every kiss you light up."
I start singing bop licks to blues changes one year;
Got no gravel voice and green git-fingers,
but there's pain in my song.
I start with a slow swing, "Mama, better keep
your baby clean." a la kerouac, and end up swearin
about the one woman who ever qualified as a blue
machine.
I see her in Sedona, riding desert winds on
a harley. Drives her bike off a cliff to catch
a better glimpse of the setting sun and washes up
down-stream in leather hips and a green jacket;
says her name's Susan Bee.
When she smiles it's ivory and marmalade,
when she tosses her hair she's a blazin white birch
in the midst of wildfire.
I wake up one morning in a dandelion field with
her panties tied to my wrist and a note that
reads, "I pawned your guitar for a ride
west, meet me in cognito, love subee.
P.S.
don't forget my underwear, it's the only pair I've got."
The dealer at Su's favorite indian casino is an old
lover. Whenever I come 'round he fraps his felt
just so I know that this is his country.
America built road and rail from ocean to ocean.
While Mexico exhales mariachi and sweats tequila,
my mom rolls dice at a fool's table.
I asked her what love was and she told me, "Boy,
one day a sky without clouds will remind you of a
stage without curtains. But love ain't the moon
or the menagerie, it's the audience."