crowroad3 (crowroad3) wrote,

11 x20: musicology


God met the Mayor
of MacDougal Street, the man
who was workin’ for the union
the tangled-up track
of  61, where bloody
was the bard from Hibbing
of all the folks, and God
sang, back-porched
of muddied water
and blues where the grass
went seaward and surfed
surfed, gospelled on the porch
and red-dirt-trudged
to where Robert knelt, met
his hell, or another, a future
where God sang with Black,
Frank, a punked-out
fare-thee-well to then:
Now it’s a record
for the world to still spin
to metal, to flat-black as eyes
while God strums
seisiún for the Joshua
and the canyon
of the bright angels
and nature is beautiful
the way on occasion
your voices twin,
Winchesters, the way you
roll the way you reach
into pockets and breathe—
  the way in arms you
  rock,  and rock.
Tags: gospels, poem-things

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