Sketches - 10 (August 17th, 2014)

10.

I keep seeing shapes of people

where there are none.

The shapes flit around peripherally -

       I glance in that

       direction and the form

       is gone

and I consider - - -

       what’s real and unreal.

Flitting carousing figure past the backyard window

and a strange deja vu grips

whatever in me is sensitive

to such things - meanwhile,

          ‘I’m a rattle snakin’

                       daddy’

           sayeth the blues man.

He sings it like silk in some plain nondescript room.

I imagine the wallpaper is crimped, bubbled,

and trembles slightly in an open-door breeze.

Folks, music-folks are gathering

at the Sunday ramshackle house.

Dark alley entrance huffing cars

and oblique flavor of my pipe

ash ploofing into mouth and spit

it out by the back load-in door.

It makes us weep and moan,

‘ain’t nothing but a hound dog

             sniffin’ sniffin’

               at the door’

(August 17th, 2014)

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