Chapter 19

The 12th street blues


In the morning we’ll be so hungry

That we’ll eat these words

But tonight we’re going to sing

In the morning we’ll forget the music

But tonight is the night we dance

Tomorrow they will forget us

But tonight our art will live

For we are vagabond poets


We sleep out at night

Drinking the constellations

Taunting the muses

By hiding behind the stars


We are the tricksters

The word benders

The theme stealers

And dancing thieves

We steal words from the heavens

To satisfy our arts greed


We are the wordsmiths

Plying our trade on the stage


Turning our canvasses to gold

We are merchants

Trading our harmonies and melodies

For our owns soul’s profit.


We are vagabond prophets

We foretell the future of human awareness

Our poems, tea leaves

Floating in the oceans of our imaginations

Liquid inventions of consciousness

Expanding the minds of all that take head


We paint the golden eternity of now

Just to mark arts progress

Turning the present into stepping stones

With each stroke we write the future

With each stroke we dye the fabric of space and time

Turning fates white thread into Technicolor dream coats


We are vagabond players

And all the streets are the stage

Re-creating life on soaps boxes under the bridge

We shift through your public façades

And act out the parts you try to hide.

Showing the world bare breasted

We turn our bodies into Tableau vivants

Moving pictures of your society


We are the underbelly of your beauty

Let me know what you think

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