Sunday, December 04, 2011

Who Wins When No One Sings On Chet Baker Street?

Can't you just taste it?
Can't you feel it coming?
high beams in the fast lane
Candyland grabbing
hiking up its g-string
waist-dipping for a dollar
just over your shoulder
a blown burst of cotton candy
Who do we talk to about this?
What station?
Which forms from what office?
It's a hustle. It's a hustle.
And the jazz sadness comes back
a friend, a fellow traveler
lost to the loud and dirty streets
in the dark tangle of his bearded mind
it's coming from him now, among others
emanating out
like an aura, an amplification
in intensity and color
Can't you see it coming?
a recollected image
from transient conversation
close it down, close these streets
shut them up and make them refill their blankets
it's all the shopping they can do
stolen and bought and stolen again
do that knee bend for a dollar
mining the sidewalks for cigarettes
Can't you feel it? When you see that?
just behind your back
leaning on a car
with its legs crossed?
coming and going and waiting
getting weekly hugs on the streets
this damned street
this neighborhood of endless tragedies
Can't you feel it?
Stumble of crushed resignation
Crack rock hand snatch
scuttling back to its land grab
Who do we talk to?
Which phone number?
Text what to where?
like a BART ticket in your pocket
unintended energetic transfer
Can't you feel it?
once was welcome
now gnarled by stolen carts
of fabricated talismans
paper eyes and antique hands
a laugh that belies it's near arrival
like an armored tour bus idol
diesel dust and dead flesh scent
there's no stopping now
Can't you smell it in the air?
like the fumes of some sad music
all the icebergs your sugar backpack
ride the crest of foamy garbage
winter handstands slowly melting
Can't you hear it?

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