It’s easy
to say
Sorry;
It’s not so
Easy to
Mean
What you
Say

neon lights
illuminate the night’s
heavy clouds

while rain muffles
the constant urban humming

pierced by distant sirens
moving slowly
through concrete canyons.

Billie, Billie, strange and blue,
Does not the spotlight shine on you?
And guide your satin step across the stage,
And illuminate the notes on your page?
In bleaching limelight, your sighs wide and bright;
The curl of your lips is slick and alluring.
Your voice assuring,
Your melody mellow from radio’s retelling.
Billie, Billie, Sunday’s child,
You rot in a corpse-bed,
But haunt visions my head.
Serenaded with bittersweet, indigo hues,
In every vein, I carry your blues.