The promises of a thousand suns,
Printless ground, swirling flakes against the sky.
Morning in the heart of this surprised city,
Laid siege by a March storm,
Found me listening to out-of-tuned guitars;
Slack strumming of black boys
With trains and big-legged women in their voice.
My mind caught in sound and light of winter,
Vaulted somber years to youth..
Closed doors and “WHITE ONLY” sins of Louisville
Changed the sun’s birth to sounds of loss.
A loving absence,
Lyrical savior who took the midnight special and left us.
Highballed it home to heaven.
In the heart of this city, I await
A second coming
The light of bursting suns,
Baked atoms coming to a new birth:
Black boy strumming a surrealist guitar,
A vision wholly modern…
Got no time for the preacher,
Honey, all I want is you,
If yo’ lovin gets the best of me,
Then my travlin’ days is through.