Monday, March 16, 2015

the dancing fool of Court St.

he likes to dance
in the streets.
or with a friend.
he shimmies
and shakes.
not for money
or pleasure.
he dances
for the voices
that command him
to go on.
a wild thunder
of voices
pushing him along
and as he lays
in bed at night
his legs
keep going.
through the world
of dreams.

a poem for the ages.

wait for it.
wait for it
and it will come.
the advice
we've been looking
for throughout
the ages:

"it is alright
for a man
to screw
his wife
or girlfriend
but not his horse
dog or cat."

angels and demons.

he talks
to the angels
and the demons
that drive him.
the angels
who take him
to work
to support his wife
and child.
the demons
who force him
to drink
and sleep around.

he talks
to the angels
less and less now.
he follows the demons
who take control
and more frequently.
they will surely
lead him
to the slaughterhouse.
leaving whatever
remains of him
he follows them
every day
into the bars
and onto the hooker's
street corners.
he will eventually
lose it all
and become a shell
of a man
far from the Truth.

Keith Wesley Combs

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...