Seven Road

View the full text of this poem.

I.

it’s a white witch kind of Sunday
air like a dream catcher, crystal leaves, and all 
the pixies from the night before are still standing, 
rusted eyeshadow, breasts of wind 
and hairs crossed like the 
silk of a gin fizz on the back your throat

i woke up at a table for one, 
brown-eyed and wild, 
looking to do something radical
and a tattoo wasn’t going to cover it,
Steely Dan vinyl and a 
heady cup of coffee, 
waiting for a gentleman i 
met in a dream, prophet-like, 
hazy-eyed and wise handing me a 
ticket for one 
magic carpet ride

his voice was blue and his hair was fire 
and he spoke as if he was taking off my 
ear like the top of a tin, vibes all six blade knife, 
digging me in at the heels  

listen, he says, between the beard and the 
uncommonly good-looking necktie,
every heart’s a room and 
beautiful things don’t ask questions 
they only want to be kissed 
on the tips of the fingers 
and you’ve got to be 
a rebel, child, a sister of 
the moon, never forget
the world you live in
we’re all the 
same, sun color
built to match the 
beds of our nails 
you gotta have roots 
‘cause nothing worth having comes from 
trees anymore (shaking it all 
out of his head somberly), 
like journalists and
scholars rehearsing their
books full of buzzwords—they all fall the same— 
and anyone who tells you different
should’ve got the piss knocked out of him 
a long time ago

he was so convincing i 
took another sip of coffee and 
flipped my record to the B-side
heading west, i didn’t know where
saw a sign with the number seven, 
figuring it had to be my 
lucky day 

sometimes you just gotta live by the wishes, 
he says, dipping down low, 
when your goals are on a road to nowhere and 
all the street signs are busted and 
some asshole’s turned out all the lights 
*hooks left at a buffalo crossing 
and blows a little girl a kiss* 
you gotta lace up your boots and let your 
soul do the walking, he says, 
by leaving footprints, that’s how we grow 
heroically 
older 

i got the feeling he was
once revolutionary
and wondered how many 
times he wandered down 
this Seven Road
on a carpet full of gold
looking for souls who 
live by the boots, who are pulled 
by the ends of the wild hair, whose spirits
live and die by the miracles of the 
imagination, and who would rather get beat 
to the knees and stand with 
their dreams than walk alone when 
every other road is closed and 
they got nowhere to go

that, he says, is how 
visionaries 
are made,
that is why i 
built this Road
alone

 

*Original artwork Ⓒ 2018 by T. Blake

34 thoughts on “Seven Road

  1. Hi, I like to check out the blogs of those who happen by my place and leave a ‘like’ on a post, so I returned to read this.
    Wow.
    I am imagining this spoken like a Tom Waits story, all ‘9th and Hennepin’ style. Possibly by a female but perhaps not. Either way, stunning.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi there,
      Thank you very much for the kind words. I am happy you decided to stop by and that you enjoyed this. To have my poetry conform as naturally and beautifully as possible to the spoken word is actually an aspiration of mine. I very much appreciate the compliment.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. Thank you! I often wonder about the evaluation of my words? My son’s are my biggest fans!! Who could ever want for more! Right? One day…I am going to take a blimp ride into the unknow, just to tap in on your inspiration!!😀

        Liked by 1 person

      2. Oh, I think we all wonder (maybe too much sometimes) how others evaluate our work. I think you are quite talented…and yes, if your sons are your biggest fans, then you really do have the best audience. 🙂 And let me know when you decide to take a ride way, way out there…maybe I’ll join you.

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Well, it happened again! This one really grabbed me by the goon-dahs. I felt creative, and painted in a mad fury for several hours without stopping. Exhausted. I wrote an e-mail regarding this one… 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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