.

         •we sleep
                                 swad-
                                           dled
                 we manage               tight•
           somehow      to wake            late at
       •and...                  cradled             night•
      the bed                    in the ci-          we toss
   ngle off                      cle of ea-           and tu-
   ms da-                     ch oth-             rn•roll
our ar-                  er's a-             away
sheets•            rms•           and re-
with the                   turn...•
our legs tangle

.

I closed the door.
Falling to my knees,
head in my hands
and I wept.
I shook.
And I rocked.
And I wept.

The world fell silent,
and dark.
The blood seeped through my clothes.
Burning scarlet.

The arrows embedded so deep.
Deep into my flesh.
Piercing flesh and organs.
Each a death blow.
And I wept..

The arrows stood out from me,
proud and valiant.
Poison tipped.
Bringing about my demise.
And I wept..

And in this silent world,
the voices came.
And one by one
the arrows were taken from me.
Tearing skin from flesh,
flesh from bone.
And in my agony,
I wept..

The ground,
a pool of my blood.
Pouring carmine.

But the voices remained.
Whispering prayers.
Words to heal.
Songs of kindness and hope.
Lullabies of peace.

And in time,
there became a comforting stillness,
and a moment of light.
An ember.
Blew upon
with the breath of kind hearts.

And in that moment,
I had hope.
I felt loved.
And I will remain.

My wounds will heal.
My skin will be marred for all time.
But I will remain.
I will stand up and smile once more.
I will be happy for my time.

Opening the door,
to do battle once again.

Bowie
left town
blasting off
from a
Lafayette
rooftop
his ***
spewing
a rainbow arc
liberally
sprinkling
Gluten-free  
golden glitter
onto chichi
Houston Street
bistros
liberating a
fawning glitterati
eager to prance
about a
shanghaied
High Line

for a
NY second
the best dressed
homeless dude
in NoHo
spotted a
Pale Duke
apparition
fluttering over
a posse of
faux
figurine
graffiti
splashed across a
Banksyless wall
tagging the
sunny side
of the finest
neighborhood
car wash

a ghostly
Lou Reed
dressed to the nines
in sleek
Transformer drag
watched
chuckling,
scratching his *****
humming
the final bars of
an Eno
inspired
Perfect Day,
marking odds
when a
long overdue
Iggy Pop
will crash the
Pearly Gate
mosh pits

Ubering
through
the choppy seas
of urban sludge,
lightning bolts
streak down
the sullen faces
of cash strapped
honey dippin
lust for life
hipsters,
luxuriating in
a well nursed
millennial
angst
stew

Fun City's
frenzied
bare footin
Little Monster
darlings
imprisoned
in soulless
high-rises,
still a
quarter shy
from annual
bonus time,
pace
white
stained
minimalist
spaces
indulging
notions
driven
by economic
compulsion
to dial up
flush with cash
fund managers
to seek
margin loans
on their
large positions
in alpha rich
distressed
asset funds
while their
diamond collared
Schnauzers
wait outside
the corner
State News
licking the
oozing sores
encrusting
Lazarus's
feet

Ziggy's
lapping tongue
marks time,
waiting for
the stretchy
panted painted
ladies scoring
Iman's
organic rouge
at a corner
bodega

listening to
a sidewalk
trash can
yelp today's
Daily News
headline
"Major Tom
Myna Hero!"
bekighting the next
15 minute legend
a talking
Myna bird
named
Major Tom

the vigilant
Major
alerted occupants
of a Brooklyn
townhouse of
a furnace leaking
carbon monoxide
when he stopped talking
and dropped dead

a veritable canary
in a coal mine story

a special service
marking
Major Tom's
supreme sacrifice
is planned,
in the spirit of
neighborhood
beatification
the family
implores those
wishing to express
condolences
in lieu of flowers
to please occupy
Prospect Park
to drive out
the rapacious
squeegee men
and feed the
hungry pigeons

Bowie's earthly star
may have gone black
but the ashes of his
disembodied voice
will forever
mark the city
like the
ubiquitous
gray splot
ashes of
pigeon
guano

David Robert Jones
1.8.47 - 1.10.16

Well Done Beloved
God Bless and Godspeed


Music Selections:

David Bowie, Dollar Days

David Bowie, I Can't Give Everything Away

David Bowie, Black Star

Jazz Messengers, Wayne Shorter
Lester Left Town

1.17.16
NYC
jbm