castro asks me to write a deep-image color poem and immediately i think of blue, not for any particular initial association with that deep dirty mississipi mud-boned and begotten american art form, not for the raw-nerved crunch of that art form
of the simple clarity
lying in sun of absolute emptiness
can be imagined as anything,
stretching yawning expanse
twitch neath the yellow-hot sun's eyelash.
today is a blu day
blutiful because it exists
these things i believe for you and for me
having nothing to do with blue-backed hydras i obsess over frequently, be you america or my former jellybones
those bad blues ladies of oblivious image, oblivion of imagination.
the blue sky cuts thru the bad blues woman funnelling thru my marrow
theres a sulfuric red hellhound nippin' at my nikes
and that bad blues woman too on my trail
sucking spending money outa my pockets
and meat off my bones
joints outta sockets
cash outta sharked loans
i asked her for water and that bitch gave me gasoline
that's tha hatefull-est woman i ever did seen
now i got patches on my elbows
and stiches on my dreams
the church bell toll
the big cadillac wit the bed in the back
whole family's wearin black
diced to pieces on tha killin floor.
but when i's touched by the benevolent transbluscent boothill of that sky
the bad blues woman just a glint in my blu eye
traded into the corner shop for the simple clarity of a blue guitar
jangling neath a blu sky
ah play me a song
a new transbluscent tattered heartline
real jingle jangle blutiful because it exists and is all of it
these things i believe for you and for me blues.
so castro asks me to write a deep-image color poem about blues and i think of it unfolding all blue at once just as i always do.