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Veneer on White Picket Fences |
You can wake them up in Houston
under the oleander trees
and in the backlots by the barges of rock
Sometimes the blankets come alive
in the charming sunlight of the street
with the rain water running on the tarps
They've all forgotten Miles Davis
and the trumpets have all gone silent
in the whirring of machines and metal
Some of them have died for seven years
and they're still trying their luck at dying
in the perches of the metropolitan inventions
You will never love them
in their vestiges of empire lighting
as they soak up the mire of the junkie sun
copyright 2015
John Jay
Flicker |
