Music is Dangerous (from Black Book Poems)

Music is Dangerous

Dark night, Nebraska night

chilled over ice on the

wood planks of the front porch,

this morning, no surprise

seeing the ice-caked roof

of our neighboring garage

our cars parked in a narrow

driveway snug black/white spy

versus spy cars under

weather conditions

strange and new, forth

                            coming.

Last night it was nearly

74 degrees in high of

high during daylight hours

therefore evening in Benson

proper was settled in

a feverish almost spring-like

impish fever-warmth. You could

feel energies unleashed

in the wet morbid smell of

it, spice of fall suddenly

carried away on a warm

agreeable but questionable

              wind.

All the usual characters

of the bar last night, all of

us laying claim to musical

and turf territoriales

in a great unanswered void.

There’s a sticker in the

                Barley Street Tavern

behind the bar at waist level

just below the sliding ice

drawer towered over by

glass shelves of opulent

glowing hard-booze bottles,

seductive bottle shapes,

reminds me of the old times

in harsh bloody knuckles

and after-day hangover from

blacked out fully

forgotten mayhems and yelling

but now sober long

enough to read the sticker

behind the bar …

             reads

           

“music is

              dangerous.”

Come down hard.

the thunder clap and

lightning strobe, slow

moving traffic up

Maple street, rain

drooling from stopped

up leaf gutters and

millions of rivulets

conjoining in gutter

sweeps of cold water

and chill of cold

front to come and it

was in between extreme

hot and cold that the

bands played and the

people swayed and the

floor shook and rattled

              drinks vibrated

              tables full of

              hand claps.

Standing in between

dim lights smiling

out back

in car and parking lot

just shy of the alley

and back of bold

rust-Irish Benson

bar ancient in its

mood and blackout Scottish

whiskey nightmare

                   shlosh.

A good turn of small time

money in the bar, stretch

hour and a half past

midnight, pay off in

the warm flicker glow

of welcoming bar lights

as opposed to bland

storefront liquor store

death tune.  Able to

pay off the artists

that night, good

for mornings breakfast

and tea

following day.

Now its so god damn

cold outside I can’t enter

the house without my

glasses fogging up.

- - - - - - - - -

(November 11th, 2012)

https://soundcloud.com/urlp/bloody-spurs-instr