Wings of the Moment

Wings of the moment

Flying into torment

So much space to fill with imagining

Not ready to deal with realities.

She has taken care of me

As her man-child

In no promised land

But a land of broken promise.

I am not a dust bowl Guthrie

No excuse for blues

Or hard times

Except the seeing of what I see

When I am hang gliding

Alone

Out there.

I am rolling, shivering

Out in the street

In, in the room

Speaking in tongues stuck to cold metal

Speaking in explosions

Ready to revel in Mardis Gras

Anonymity

Crowds are gone

Melted into one being

Surging to the one white house at the end of Bourbon Street

Columns blazing

But never burning

Calling out the rag children

With their rag dolls

Telling them of the American Dream traditional style

But they’re in the wrong tradition, because they’re in the raw tradition

Unfinished

Untamed

Unsuited

But never unblamed.