The Lounge (once more)

Such a polished act,

“who you mean”,

your obscenity
and crawling nails,
they scratch the sidewalk,
we lost all hope for You
and walk with dark eyes;
thrown from Your arms.

You held the tickets,
of children whose dreams
and whose tune…
feet with pepsi caps,
the smiles of night.

“really?”

Willingly plundered
in dark brown or kool-aid lime,
holding the smokes
and shivering puffs,
that pass from lip
to mouth.

We look 6:30 in the morning;
we are your Lounge.

“yeah I know, it’s voodoo”

Our paper dryness and
shaking palms,
we high and low,
ritual blows,
who work the Lounge,
who adore your obscenity,
the comedy, the pages of scribble;
our perspectives of absurd value.

We adore you and
that sketch, stubbled erasings
in the Lounge.

“you mean the voodoo lounge?”

“yeah!”

2010 Barry Comer – visit litkicks.com

Advertisements

About Barry Comer

I volunteer as a design and communications consultant with Family Scholar House in Louisville, Kentucky, http://www.familyscholarhouse.org the Democratic Socialists of America http://www.dsausa.org and teach children with emotional and developmental disabilities. I have degrees in art and was an art director for 30 years.
This entry was posted in alcohol, beat, cohen, dreams, love, music, Allen Ginsberg, America, Beat Comedy, beat poetry, bible, Black History, God, Gypsy, jack kerouac, Jacques Prevert, leonard cohen and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.