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From the ashes Jun 2020
I'm getting goosebumps thinking
about my coney Island baby,
we're going to the boardwalk
and listen to some Rock and Roll.
If I'm blessed by the warped
east coast gods, I'll run into
Sweet Jane and score
some ******, the click that
makes this hell alright.
with a dime bag, this madness
becomes a perfect world.
This should be quite the Walk on the
Wild Side.
this is a poem for the Band Challenge of B.L.T.
the band is the great late Lou Reed.
rest of title...Parkland, Fla.,February 14, 2018

One more senseless mass homicide
   twas the sole arbitrary aim
as a former student nonchalantly
   sauntered empty hallways
   seconds preceding blame
brazenly intent to maximize total killed

   matter of factly telling police
   (his incomprehensible)
   (ill) logic he did explain
when cornered, he willingly,
   unflinchingly, reticently admitted guilt

Nikolas Cruz rocketed
   to instantaneous infamous fame
   pulling a fire alarm
   ("FAKE") emergency,

   then going leisurely ambling
   along his killing spree
total of seventeen slain (comprising 3 faculty
   and 14 students)
   mercilessly gunned down
   as if they were wild game

when handcuffed, an innocuous
   19 year old did readily admit
emptying one firearm after another
   at a fairly rapid clip

then at some predestined
   or spurious moment didst dip
and dive out amidst
   the chaotic madding crowd
   before reality flopped then did flip
as lower teeth he nervously bit upper lip

made feeble getaway
   at a nearby eatery casually flirted
   with cashier and made no move to flit
upon his seizure as cornered prey

   subsequently large tract
   massively cordoned off
   strong arm of the law
slightly halting in speech
   detailed his gambit

deliberately staking
   a stance to maximize hit
and once again afflicted parents lit
up with rancor and rage pit

toughly battling sorrow
   which will not quit
til death doth bring peaceful rest
   sans, those grieving family visit.
You left
a white lighter
on your coffee table

so that when
we'd go back
to collect your things

from a crime scene
we had been to
countless times,

we'd know that
you died
thinking yourself

a King of Rock and Roll.

But really
you were
the prince

heir to
all the love
dad had to give,

bestowed upon
year after year
with the kind of too much faith

that only
parents
can give.

You heard
their lessons
about the world

being your oyster

but never payed
attention
to how to care

for
your
people.

You were
always
about the show,

You'd give all
the glitz
and glamour

off of your very own crown

thinking that
if love didn't sparkle
people wouldn't know it was

there.

But then
someone gave you
purple-hazed glasses

and suddenly
the world was
love in your pupils,

they flooded
your irises
with a shine

to which no amount of
family jewels
could compare.

Your eyes
had seen
radiance

and all you had
to go back to
was flaw

you saw
a life
that was hard

and surprisingly heavy
for being so
empty,

And you just
kept chasing
the smooth blues

that would never hurt your ears

or play you
the old song
of wasted potential.

Even as you wandered
popping and
repopping your ears,

our love was
dull to your
rock and roll lifestyle.

I know how much
you missed how it
was before

you got discovered by it,

eager and seething
to sink its hooks
into another good one.

Instead of
writing your own
song,

you faded
into the old
one.

And now,
I've lost word and
lyric,

melody is
ash
in my pen

because the music
wasn't in me,
dude,

it was in you.

And now the record
keeps playing
through the air,

but none
of us
want to hear it.

When you went,
you left us with
a ****** white lighter

and you took the music with you.
Louis Steven
We sit down
At the Bar

You remark on
My posture

We order
Your favorite

Jack and
Coke

We sling
Them back

Double Shots
Burning my belly

Your eyes fill
With disbelief

I can see
The photographs flash

In front of
You

School Pictures
Prom Photos

Graduation
Shots

All Stacked up
Underneath this very

Bar-
Stool

My eyes roll
Away from sentimentality

Laughing it
Off


I order
Two more

I can hear you
Tell me to

Slow
Down

As if
Recorded into

A Broken
Record

Even now
I’m still

Your Baby
Sister

As My
Vision Doubles

Your Smile
Remains

As One

Though
your voice

Seems to grow
Faint

My throat begins
To burn

Feeling myself
Crying out

Over a space
Much more vast

Than the distance
Between

Our two
Barstools

Before I misplace
Myself Completely

You
Catch me

Your other Half
Your little twin

I will
Not be

Doubled
Over

We are
Celebrating

This
Birthday

As I blink
To see you

Through
My blear

I see you
Preparing

To
go

Mirroring my moves
To put me at ease

But your
Cheeks

Have lost
Dimension

Your color
No longer

Changes in
The light

You pull your
Hands away

Not wanting to
Make me

Cold

Insisting I’m
Warm

My clammy
Palms

Push
Forward

Just in
Time

To
Catch

That
Paper

Wafting
Down

I ****** it
Up

Staring at
Your smile

That always
Did

Photograph
Well

Flipping it
Over

I tried to
Remember

When you had
Signed

This photo
You could never

Have known
About

I refuse
The answer

Wary of the lies
You will believe  

When you
Split drinks

With A Memory.
They say grieving is different for everyone,
But they can never truthfully explain how.

It was not until my south star exploded
That I could understand how many constellations would be ruined

Like the godmother who would forever spend Saint Patrick's day drinking in memory of both nephew and mother;

Like the little brother who was forced to become the oldest;

Like the uncle who shuddered at seeing his own son's demise too clearly;

Like the step-mother who would hate herself for being right all along;

Like the friend who would cut up his life with the same murderous knife;

Like the father now blinded from the absence of the son's light;

And like the sister who was forced to break the promise of future reconciliation.

None of them could understand how the planets had aligned this way,

And none of them could find their former orbit,

But rather, would follow the path of the star dust left behind

Flinching at it as if it were glass,

Embracing the sting

Because it is all that is left

Of the brightest star in their sky.
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
Give me a chance to prove to you
Do anything that please you
To make you smile wide and bright
As if you were saying cheese
I'm ready to do everything
To reverse what I have done
For I need that guy back
Who used to laugh and had fun
So please forgive Hon
For you are my only sun
Tim Eichhorn Jun 2014
Once passed
Always alive
You Lou
Have me hypnotized.
Not a word
I have heard
Sounds more real
Than the ones
you've told

I too,
Have been
"Waiting
For the man."
Head up Lexington
And start lookin'
For a dear
Dear friend
Of mine;
But mostly
For that one,
Quick, fix.

Soon after
"******" hits
And I too
Am dosed,
I - don't - know.
My only
Wonder now is
If a smack
Syringe can be
As good as
It sounds at
This moment
Commemorating the sounds of Lou Reed and the Velvet Underground. Rest in Peace Lou
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