Half-Note

Hear the saxophones playing

screaming from the clubhouse doors

mourning the dead beats and cool shades

of yesterday

the buildings rocket into the sky

and herds of businessmen and saints

drudge down the sidewalks going nowhere

deaf to the sounds of God blaring through the doors

They bath their unconscious worries in showers

of barley and hops, letting its golden chill

calm their restless mind

never once looking to the milky sky dripping

through its expansion awaiting their thirst

to drink down its secrets

they fret for the inevitable while trying to ignore their eternity

the concrete and facades are painted with cries of acceptance

while the men cloak their selves in beards and 10 dollar bills

The churches remain empty and the people emptier

at their search for salvation turns towards blank statements

and welfare checks

The great poets await their work to be read and recited in the

halls of the very people they are running from

to become an entry online

and get their name downloaded as if its their soul

we meditate on the wind and always distract ourselves from

the outside world

The teachers keep reciting their clichés while the students

recite them incorrectly in the bars and in their hearts

the beat thumps on and the lights change from red to green

allowing the sleepy pilgrims a chance to rest their heads

so they may make it home safe to their Mecca on the 12th floor

As the steam rises from the sewers the merchants purchase their

freedom from the corner store

releasing them from the confines of routine

so to have a night of bliss and fleshly comfort

the piano plays on notes that rain onto the blossoming

conscience of the couples gazing upon nirvana

and so I weep for the bums and sneer at the gods

sitting in their carpeted penthouses

poorer and nude as the lazy sinners they

skin to make their couches