The ‘Papa, Can You Hear Me’ Blues

A.
Nobody does tell
The jazzed up blues of ol’ Abram

A.
Nobody does tell
The jazzed up blues of ol’ Abram

B.
His best gal¬†gone and left ‘im
And a long cold night has come

A.
I say nobody does tell
The cool cool blues of ol’ Izak

A.
I say nobody does tell
The cool cool blues of ol’ Izak

B.
His bad ol’ daddy¬†gone to cut ‘im
Bad ol’ daddy facedown in ‘is sack

A’.
Well — nobody can tell
The Punk blue/angel/blues (all cracked up)

A’.
Well — nobody can tell
The Punk blue/angel/blues (all cracked up)

B’.
Got ta’ rest here little while
Sweet youn’ angel stole away (ma’ whiskey cup)

’tis

I was a child
of children,
’tis infallible,
’tis
fate.

I am raised now
of my own,
’tis salivating,
’tis
a state.

I was a boy-child
begat mute,
’tis aphyxiating,
’tis
truth.

I am now husband
to punctuation,
’tis a-being,
’tis
couth.

I was merely
but a cherub,
’tis evidence,
’tis
law.

I am here now
of a muse,
’tis correcting,
’tis
thaw.

I am of memory,
and seclusion,
’tis quiet,
’tis
serene.

I am raised now
of my own,
’tis hilly,
’tis
green.

Wait

Wintry remix

After breath is gone, wait,
we

shall lead.
Again, birth

begun,
please, wait,

we can not
be clean

with need.

Again, hearts
bend

in lean, suspended,
wait, please.

We
can carry,

continuing,

carry
silence,

after,
the sincerest deed.

After wanting, waiting
to teem—both—

moth and beam,
will

you wait?
Will we please?

I am honoured,
ceasing,

bothering
dream, quieted.