blackjack moses
returning from the war,
returned to seek the fugitive freedom which hides in bright & open light,
talks with tangents tied to his tongue:
nothing is believable, the light lies, at least in this reality,
for the same old songs are sung.
blackjack hates
the fact that he cannot completely hate
& in this there is rage.
he cannot face the night the moon the stars
seem to plot against him,
there are very few shadows to hide in, & all the faces frown.
but for blackjack
there is no fear here, & sleep is possible.
I am as old as sin quiet as it’s kept
As ancient as an exorcism from paradise
I used to swing by my feet,
make a dance out of trees catching me,
I used to stand on my hands and throw huge rocks
with the bow of my legs
I used to outrun daylight
home to a woman dressed in nightfall
older than the blues older than the grace of sitting years
later on the porch of a rocking chair poem
I used to turn my eyes insideout
and cure a headache,
in a time before color 3D TV
in a time before footprints on the moon
in a time before the wheel
-2-
let me tell you of a time long befor
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