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| Source: Norman Rockwell Museum Digital Collection. Copyright 2011 NRELC |
the
Italian barber Norman Rockwell went to
I
am wrapped in a neck clasped cloth
I am in a
spun porcelain and leather chair
while
I wait my turn, I look out the window and
see
an orange Japanese drifter car with aftermarket
plastic
dampening and side packaging
careen
down the street
this
street is filled with summertime
as
the bipedal binary systems
of
blood and bone hone an edge water
reasoning
onto concrete mangrove roots
that appear like fingers growing out
of
buildings steeped in a tidal river's history
I
sit on someone’s front stoop
I
linger with a beer and my fresh shave
the
smell of clean just a few doors away
there
is piano music wafting from a flat nearby
Bill
Evans I believe, it helps me punch the keys
of
this portable typewriter with closed eye ease
it
is an old Underwood Standard
heavy
as my heart sometimes
but
it just as worn and bent as I
ready
to strike hammer wings onto paper
stringing
words like songs water sings
most
of my humanity is locked up in freewill and
needs
to bleed uncertainty and regard together
I
only pray these days that I may come to know
eternity
can be illustrated in a moment to moment basis
some
pieces of a stolen past, that I can carry back
to
the black white days when cars did not have
much
plastic at all, and color was all painted in imagination
EJR
©
Amazing.
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