Sounded the drum of his
Spent generation
Bobbity bomp bomp jazz me man
On the road without a home
War-orphaned
Drifting through the passing
Years
Nameless streets, forgotten bars
Lampposts dripping on dark corners
Hands to roll a cigarette
Words and women dropping in and out
Bottles to pour salvation
Soothing fire
In the cold flat of night
Eyes open and close
The music sassy, blue
Pounding
Surprising rhythms
Making it up
Beat by beat
As you go.
(Previously published in Pogonip, Apr.2000; Jack Magazine, Issue 1, Summer 2000)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem