May 24, 2013

a flipperty jib bop poem...

Dr Faustus and Hephaestus round out his trio

almost everyone
had the same dream
last night
there was going to be
a free show behind
the red barn
of farmer dig the bones

because most towns
forget how they
made dancing
an illegal description
of movement
people never realized
they milled about
as nondescript
bundles of hay
left in the fields
joyful once

he spent the daytime
fast tracking the Sun
there were birds outside
with the wind acting coy
as he waited for twilight
in a sleeveless
crept organ blues

he towed a Hammond B3
on castor wheels
solar panel ears
speakers affixed
as if a mouth and tail

the wails of pleasure
are always symphonies
and here they are
subject to taxing
your hips dip
you bob and move
in shuffle step tricks
pretending it isn’t fun

they call this
dancing music
the maestro cloaked
with shadows
bellies out half laughing
half discerning whether
this is better than
the regular gig
with the circus traveling train

there are no posters
no promotions
just town after town
down in chains
and frowns wondering
if it is okay to dance again

Mephistopheles became
a serial musician
plugged into the sorrow
of a humanity losing touch
with music, art and
the nature of being frail
and divine

he no longer collects
souls of the damned
rather he uses
the growls
bumps and grinds
of his music to provide
an opportunity
to break their bind of metal
with what butterflies crawl out
from their chrysalises for


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