Ghost o’ the Blues.

Whip-poor-will guilt -bucket is a tempting dark pit

Filled with born-too-soon moon blues;

My po’ blister’d goin’-nowhere-fast feet don’t fit

My muddy-water, busted shoes.

A fractional tip of another-too-far mile

Weight of the world, tear-blade shoulder

Just ain’t possible fo’ single man-chile

To feel more deserted or get any colder.

Dangerous Blues

Bright , pin-sharp cries

Of angel gulls,

Carrying on the winds of time;

Ghosts of past and

Spirits of future …

Echo …


These are the vulnerable blues;

I could have been so dangerous:

Back in the day.

Tides in the sky,

Clouds in the sea;

Which way is up?

Waves in the desert.

Half-way down April’s decision-river –

My darling-dancer’s coming home today –

But I won’t be there,

And I won’t be coming back.

Echo …

… Echo.

These are dangerous blues:

I am so vulnerable