Star Street King jazz June night flakes on halls are traced in times trash can
sure as shit flung at empty walls; night speaking harsh light.
wings worn from long flight;
ancient pictures in ancestral halls;
known on the line of spring:
to imitation life!
from memory takes flight
and echoed tune.
shakes dust from the walls
the stirs the doves to flight
shadows creep down the walls
doorway is opened down halls
voice sings the quiet storm in celebration of early June
time takes each doorway
turns the key in the latch
passes on in silence
leaves each room unlocked
many tenament feels
passing of those feet
and always it seems
dust on the carpet
smells of cooking
linger after although the lives
that lived there are no more
nothing never changes that time errodes.
Change is spring and sudden
never comes to deaths condominium
look at the silver hairof the old woman
the greasy stain on the front of her dress.
Look at the trembling of the mad mens lip.
Remember, that was through
much in the way we saw would restore
look at the trembling on his lips piles of bottles hoarded in his room.
Where the children wears the treaty with the bird singing in that tree
where the fresh rain to wash your dirt away the rain never comes
-melt the smoke streaks. If it purged the offal from the alley
wash the grunge from road
where is the fresh wind that blooms.
And wash your hair
The wind that makes the crumbled newspaper dance and fly that breathes wind that breathes through the house making it live

And the sun, where it is the sun that takes the darkness out of the benighted faces and burns away the pale smell of unwashed skin.
where is the sun which shines in the window and brings forth flowers from the brown carpet?




The words above are a recreation of a poem I wrote long ago. This version was dictated using Dragon Naturally speaking, and is largely uncorrected.--BW 1/14/2005