I ain't got much oomph this year, so this poem's either:
- Written to a prompt (as noted)
- Un-prompted free-write, or
- Seriously revised / rewritten from my (vast) Works-In-Process File
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Body And Soul Do Battle Before Coffee
Life on his boulevard is often just
fantasy and tantalization,
but…
This morning he has no intent
to ignore the seriously groovy blues
floating up, summoning him,
through his cracked 4:20 window.
He imagines stepping outside to
fire one up with the gang; sees
Robert Johnson waiting for Willie Brown,
Coleman Hawkins leaning by the oil-lamp
blowing a bluesy backup for Lady Day.
But it's all in his head. He'll stay put,
comfy in his 4:20 kitchen; his soul
discorporating, awaiting his brew,
his Body chain-smoking at the table.
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