I
Avalon Sunset
and we watch
from our Grace
Street balcony.
Grifters and
hustlers exit the
building briefly
illuminated
flickering
revealed beneath the
street light before stepping
into the enfolding
darkness.
Cat calls and whistles
echo.
II
The night is for
the young. We are
Princes of the 'hood
Royalty in the clubs.
The Fan District
our Kingdom. We
stagger
drunk through alleys
untouched, confident
in our beauty.
The trophy's we
bring home remain
nameless passing in
the morning light like
shadows into memory.
The veil of night
will lift it's cloak the
masquerade giving way
to the
stumbling ragged
thick tongue
of
morning.
III
Without a car I
run/ walk everywhere in
the Fan strapping on
backpack
jogging to stores
bars cafes even work.
I am fit by necessity.
Lean alert
aware one with
the streets in tune
with the rhythm outside
of the in.
IV
I was both adorned
with and adored women.
Terri, Vickie and others
less significant. I
broke a few
hearts in vain disregard
inevitably my own heart
was shattered battered
stomped into a
million billion blood
stained pieces. The
wound was almost fatal.
There were moments I
wish it were. That
was the beginning of
the Richmond Blues. That
was a test for life. That
was why I left.
V
On a rainy day
the Village Cafe
is my favorite
place to be.
A table by the
window basket of
fries pint of draft
reading
Bukowski, Hunter S.,
John Updike or similar.
Outside washes away
familiar stains. Steam
rises off black tar roads.
VCU students file
in wet and loud. The
waiter brings me another
beer and eventually another.
I turn slowly
blurring pages my
own words slurring. The
rain continues the afternoon
fades and I am content to
be immersed in
my beautiful melancholy.
Floating falling drowning in
such exquisite delectable
Blues.
VI
Long walks down
Monument Avenue (fading)
brunch at the Strawberry
Street Cafe (fading) flipping
through racks of
used LP's at Plan 9
Records (fading) Saturday
afternoons at the Virginia
Museum of Fine
Arts studying Monet up
close and of course
Picasso (fading). Writing
bad poetry on the
Grace Street balcony
stoned. Such pleasant
memories of Richmond Oh
my city Oh my heart
break
fading.
CODA
Strange days those last days.
Burned sugar, morals tested.
Shoes travel escape run till
it hurts. Blinding sun wrath of
everyone. Sanity answers
the question "why evil?".
There's truth in everything but
nothing is real.
There must be something
somewhere. Rising I rose
to a point. FALLING
LEVEL.
© 2011 Jerry L. Kirk
 |
| ©1987 Jerry L. Kirk |
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