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 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
Coals
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
I don't feel the fire today
I hope it does not forget me
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
Bait
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
I am the fool
Who bites
Into the same poisoned apple
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
Rest
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
Tuck me away
In your ribs
Let me sleep
Next to your heart
And lungs
A shallow breath
For a steady beating heart
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
The ink bleeds out of my hands
Before I can get to the paper
The floor spells out my sins
Before I my mouth knows the words
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
Will
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
Reckless to a fault
At least I am living
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
Healing
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
I heal in the puddle of your affection
Clear water dripping from your lips
Pooling with my oil spill tears
Lost on the plight of my affliction
Another cart hitched to the horse of depravity
Bring out your dead
There is no room for mourning here
Plant your new flowers
In dark rich soil
The spirits in the earth
Watch over the roots of your labor
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
Flight
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
Lexie
I feel deep again

The thinner air
At the bottom
Of the gulley

I do not remember
The taste of fresh air
Nor will it return to me
And I suppose these are hardly poetry
More mad man ramblings
With no rhyme or reason
Asked who inspires me
I could’ve said Bukowski, Poe, or even Dickens I suppose
Yet, I listed the Jamadhi’s and Nat Lipstadt
All the way to the Edmund Black’s
Even the ever infamous DelleFemine
Who I usually disagree with
Yet, they are true poets
Who’s words demand to be read
How I aspire to stand amongst you
Tall and brave
For you are the poets of my world
And I hope you’ll be immortalized
Sitting godly with words filling all the spaces inbetween
There are so many more I could’ve listed and I hope those too shall live on forever
The 352 Blues

this city treats the poor
with swift unkindness,
but if you peel your eyes,
you don't necessarily have to always
sing the ole 352 Bleecker Blues

the eyetalian storekeeper,
gives us morning java,
when we sing for him on the guitar,
The Star-Spangled Banner,
refills, if we add America the Beautiful

they say that heat rises,
but that don't seem true
in our third floor walk up
on rue 352 Bleecker Street,
the cold companion enters
thru the busted stain glass window

no matter, no cares,
we light the fireplace,
with wood and anything that'll burn,
we scavenged from the street,
pallets and newspapers,
rent bills overdue,
yesterday's 352 truths

at two AM, the cops, in their cars
cooping, fast asleep, only just us,
the johns, the ****** and troubadours,
walking the streets looking for
free stuff to burn

pass the hat for tips
next to the arch,
enough for daily bread
but we get our ***** and ****
for free, just for singing the 352 blues

even when down and out
on the village streets,
bleak on Bleecker street,
you gotta sing the 352 blues,
especially when you're
riding high and living cool,
down on easy Bleecker Street
in 1968
~~~~~~~
Before you ask me if this true,
save your breath,
the answer is
Which part?
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
radz
door
 Mar 2020 a poet gray
radz
where is the door
that will reveal the secret of
L - loyalty
I - integrity
F - fairness
E - empathy
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