dmseay

24 hour laundromat…old woman smoking a cigarette with an ash a mile long…talkin’ ’bout this grand kid…her daughter Candy Sue… and that no-good husband of her’s who ran off with a check-out girl at the Napa auto parts store years ago…,shoulda’ put a stop to that…

and this homeboy with a tattooed skinny meth girl lookin’ to score on her cellphone…,you know I’m good for it…you know I am…whatcha want me to do…, he eats pork rinds while she keeps biting her lower lip…bruised…tarnished…hiding blackened teeth that once made a momma proud…, she always had the prettiest smile…

young Mexican girl folding colorful blankets…wearing a tube-top…nodding as music plays in headphones…drinking Coca-Cola…the kind with real sugar…lookin’ -up at the T.V. screen to see more talk of walls and deportation…she doesn’t understand a word…but knows what’s comin’…

my clothes spin in the dryer…couple of pants…some tee-shirts…underwear that’s seen better days…i just watch…just watch…while homeboy pops more cracklins…the old broad lights another…meth-head makes one more midnight plea…

and the Mexican girl dances like there’s no tomorrow….

that boy never settled down…,the old man said…,never did…, a thick Texas swagger told a story…,,hee-hee…’member the time he took-off for good…said he’d never be back…somethin’ ’bout wantin’ to see the country…whole world maybe…

yeah…I ‘member…

one day he’d be in New York…the next Vermont…Montreal…hell…one day he called from Los Angeles…just zig-zaggin’ ’round…goin’ no-where really…

yep…he never really went anywhere…

he was up in Chicago for the longest of time…he stuck there…

oh yeah…

but he messed that up too…married some mobster’s daughter…some dago girl…had ’em a job…a car…makin’ somethin’ of himself…

jobs an’ cars are important…

not to him they ain’t…damndest thing I ever seen…boy’d rather walk…take trains…always takin’ trains…says that car was an albatross…round his neck…stifled ’em or somethin’…I don’t get it…

he’s different alright…

some kinda’ gypsy…a madman really…all that wanderin’ ’round…an’ for what…what does searchin’ for somethin’ getcha…

don’t know…

think we’ll see ’em again…

hard ta’ say…people change…

hell…that boy ain’t changin’….

listening to jazz at all hours of night…into the wee morn…station outta’ Newark playing america’s song…the one Miles raised us on…taking me away from my woes of the day…my lowly economic status…a love -life laying in the arms of beautiful buddha…waiting for nothing…waiting for nothing…waiting for nothing…

horns blow through a tinny speaker…a little static goes a long way…something beautiful ’bout imperfections…a warped board…a missed note…a broad’s bent nose at 3 in the morning as she sucks in smoke and blows it back out at you in the diner…coffee poured…pie played with…and you two just keep makin’ eyes to one ‘nother…winks an’ smiles…winks an’ smiles…

and there were visions throughout the night…hung-over thoughts of what if…could’ve would’ve should’ve…the one that got away ’cause you didn’t hang-in at the plate…hitting foul tips the whole time onna’ full count ’till she called… STRIKE 3eeeeeeeeeeeeee….next batter…

so i walk up an’ down Lexington Avenue peeking in on the Greeks…the Punjabs….card readers….Madame X reads minds for one low cost payment…cash only…credit cards not accepted….

an’ the Bowery’s buzzin’…girls in tight sweaters playing kissy-face with boys who should be home in bed…grounded for mouthin’-off at mom and dad…missed marks on their report cards….but…they steal the girl every time…love is a young man’s game….a young man’s game…

i just lay here…dreamin’ of all this as jazz flows outta’ Jersey through a tinny speaker…

somethin’ beautiful ’bout imperfections

these meanderings…
’round cities…countrysides…villages…
all these travels…
never stopping but for one love affair…

from Montreal to Chagrin Falls…
falling asleep on beaches in Biloxi…
looking at Lake Michigan…
Southside…Northside…a tale of two towns…

and like Whitman…
bag over shoulder…
tablet in hand…
poetry is written…

black woman on a bus with two kids screaming and a tee-shirt that says…,STOP THE MESSIN’ GOD IS BLESSIN’…
is he sister…is he…

hippies smelling of oils and cliches…
selling craft beers $8 a bottle…
businessmen drinking PBR…
the hip have gotten hipper…the hyper more hyper…and i watch…i watch…

hitting the streets in full-force…
amongst whores and junkies…
pushers and peddlers…
the newest niche…
and…the old men in bars…i remember when kid….

crazies without meds screaming for justice…
do black lives matter…
what happened to the ‘hood…
57,000 homeless walking ’round New York…
and i watch…

language policed…
liberals listening to stock reports…
NPR…FOX…MSNBC…PBS…what’s the difference…
widgets and beer…widgets and beer…

i watch…
the whole collapse coming down…
i watch…
i watch…

mark your calenders….

old records…
books on shelves never read…
pocket watches…
things…just items ’round a house where you lived…

a moving picture camera…
wood carved name plates…
adding machine…
tape recorders used for secret missions…

6 clocks…
brass lamps…
wooden desks you made in your shop…
where is their next home…

this old dog-piss covered couch…
Amish quilts…
straight-blade razor…
i never said goodbye…

paintings of farm houses…
padded folding chairs…the fancy kind…
card table…never stable…
Thanksgivings…birthday parties…a deck of cards in the top drawer…

gold trophies…
pictures of kids in football uniforms…
an old baton…a trombone…
wanderings…of what might have been…

what might have been…

it is a hollow sound within tonight…
emptiness…longing…
for a note…
chords…
save me from this silence…

belly empty…
heart lame…
legs weary…
mine eyes have not seen the glory…
soul hungers…

tis the road again…
concrete awaits…
lush greens gone away…
new robes…new robes…
the weight…the wait…has been long enough…

life turns…
didn’t see it coming…
hit with a left hook…
but…i did not go to my corner…
a fighter fights…

and we awake to america…
it’s commerce…it’s bravado…
a loudness unmatched…
while this hollow sound eats at the guts…
i want the blood to flow again…

to see the beggars begging in Times Square…
the porno pirates purchasing poppers…
$ slices…
subway children lost in the night…
back…to america…

again…
again…
again…

waters speak to me…
god… i love their voices…
roars…
whispers…

in mid-night this river speaks of past lives…old stories…vagabonds who have bathed in it’s grayish blue…tug boats traveling through locks…girls who dipped in nude…
and souls that wept to the bottom of it’s depths…

waters speak to me…
damn… i love their voices…
roars …
whispers…

autumnal days of choppy waves…Queens on the other side…the wind streams through your blonde hair…spraying a mist…can we stop for a kiss…

waters speak to me…
jesus… i love their voices…
roars…
whispers…

calling-out…the tide comes-in…an evening’s display of lights…sounds…day is done yet your life carries-on…old black men with fishing poles…lovers take strolls….and we sip brandy in the evening’s cool….
while you yell and you hush and you sing….hallelujah….hallelujah…hallelujah…

waters speak to me…
i love their voices…
roars…
whispers…

listen to the waves…
shhh…what do they tell you….they are speaking to us…screaming at us…
and we are the fools who do not listen…
or…do we…

sleep does not come…
trying to quiet down voices….
shh…
restless soul…

old meditations…
prayers…
closing eyes and count to…1…2…3…
restless soul…

sounds from the gut…
breath…breath…breath…
flesh stirs…trembles…shakes…
restless soul…

calm…please be calm…
away with these thoughts…
a novel unfinished…
restless soul…

noises never stopping…
not of these streets…nor homeboys on corners…or…girls calling out in a silent way…
sirens screaming….no no no…
restless soul…

drink does not…
pills popped…
a full belly…
restless soul…

please let me slumber…
dream…
demons be done…
restless soul…

it’s that pitch-black voice…
death tones…
shhh…please…shh…please…
restless soul…

silence…
quiet between you and me…
wanting to hear…
shouts…whispers…
notes plucked on an old stand-up bass…
keys stroked by Bill Evans…punches from McCoy…the moans of Keith Jarrett…
calling-out to Mingus…calling-out to Mingus…

but there is silence…
you are not speaking…
nor laughing…
and there is no jazz…
no poetry read aloud in mid-dim light….
night-time gets lonely…

no no no kisses in my ear….
nothing wet upon lips…
just quiet….too quiet…
this rented room longs for you….
amongst checked-out library books…old sweatshirts….wilted lamp posts…ripened bananas….day old coffee…
you are not here…

listen…
your voice is within…
jazz is in the soul…
and kisses remembered…
you were not in love huh…
tis a pity…

you could’ve fooled me….

she wails…
wandering ‘cross america…
Decatur…Toledo…Pittsburgh…Pueblo…the Salton Sea…
she wails….

not knowing where to port…
station to station…
never slowing down…
desperately wanting home…

thought she’d come upon safety in Tuepelo….or was it Fayetteville…maybe Reno…
just ‘nother dream in the ‘merican night…
San Fransisco…New York…’lanta….nothing…nocturnal wishes never true…just sketches…

and we look for home…we look for home…we look….
wailing the whole time…
pretzels in a bar- car…over-priced concessions….
buy me a beer Joe…
tis my last dime…

she wails…
like lovers from past…
women i thought…i thought…
running-away in the thick of it….always an escape clause…

will this train ever find me a home…
amongst the blacks…latinos…Chinamen…old Irish cops on barstools…petty thieves…crazies…Jews and constant Catholics…
will this train ever find me a home….

she wails…
wandering ‘cross america…
Decatur…Toledo…Pittsburgh…Pueblo…the Salton Sea…
she wails…