December, 1983

 

New York
Finger Lakes, long and deep into the land
Winter winds
I walked the streets in my leather jacket
Defiant
But bent by circumstance
A prodigy in my family
A failure in effect
Wandering, wondering
Cold and hungry
Records here
Guitars there
No home to call my own
Friends fatigued yet still in my corner
Befuddled
Sunk in the mire
Second guessing
As I flopped like a fish
On the beach, out of water
Foolish child
Unaware, all the while
Fighting ghosts
Fighting myself
On the road to hell
I yearned to be free
But the jailer was me
Capricious, taking the suss
We have met the enemy, as Pogo Possum said
He is us
Finally my closest companions
Opened their hearts
To help me depart
From the place that I loved
To the soil of my birth
The place that gave me worth
Ohio
Oh no!
I did not want to go back
Where rednecks attack
Midwestern ministers preach
To those out of reach
And me on my knees
Help this miscreant
If you please
I had no choice
But to ride with Manic Dave
Across the Interstate
Drinking Jack Daniel’s
Smoking Camel cigarettes
Never to forget
That I had failed in the promised land
A fool, a fallen man
Carried away
From my beloved home
Like a Rolling Stone
To the spot where resurrection could begin
In service to the ultimate him
I’ll say it again
“Thank you, friend!”
Though the medicine tasted sour on my tongue
It brought a revival
Like the rising sun
Sparkling, shining
In the sky
Blessed am I
Not today to die
Remembering the bridge on Green Street
Where I lived out-of-sight
Sunburned by day
Concrete cold, by night
Napoli’s pizza when friends would buy
Stretched out under the starlight sky
Wild Irish Rose
All week in my clothes
Dreaming large
My bed was hard
Stone sidewalks and wooden floors
I slept outdoors
Made my family shake their heads
My father cried “My son is dead!”
But then I made an escape
Back to Ohio
Back by the Great Lakes
A boy with broken toys
Making noise
With a Teisco guitar
And a tape recorder cassette
Not defeated yet
I crash-landed back in the green
Far from the artist scene
At Channel 13
Pickup trucks
And fools down on their luck
My wages of sin
Were precipitated by a blow to the chin
I’ll say it again
Manic Bly
Saved my life
With that proffered ride
While I drank and smoked
Back to my Midwestern home
I hated the yield
Yet gave thanks to be dropped
In a cornfield
Sitting on my wheels
Sat still and silent
Head bowed and bent
I have pitched my tent
This is the end
Thank you, my friend

Written on my iPhone SE