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January 15, 2023

Indian Blanket


beat goes on / volume goes up / lights go down
time marches on with or without us stepping along some lead the parade;
center ring, in the spotlight some watch from the curb

marching bands with the rhythm 

thumpity-thump and the snare snapping

75 trombones, one stayed home and got drunk

dao jazz is sometimes smooth; 

sometimes free jazz fusion-like 

all over the place crazy

easy and melodic, smooth as silk

other times harsh like bad medicine 

how many notes can I slam into this measure 

jazz like that gets on my nerves  

honking like the unbridled cacophony     

fifth avenue friday night at rush hour    

back home—-meditating on an ‘Indian’ blanket

under tall pines who are my best friends

there stand tall behind my house

a few of them got knocked over in the hurricane

but there’s still some standing real majestic-like

so I set up my blanket among the pine needles

pine cones, pine sap, pine tar, pine heaven; 

sitting in happiness in the cold november dusk

after a while, came inside to warm up

lose the chills

steaming english breakfast tea in a chipped cup

with chinese writing on it bought 

in a roadside resale store in Oblivion, North Carolina

it looked sad and forgotten and a long way from home so I bought it so it wouldn’t feel bad

now it’s part of my family

like so many other castoffs