Layla in a man’s world

The poet writes

The tired old tree leans
over an unused street
A rope hangs bent branch swarm of bees
No more swing no more leaves
Ghosts of children’s laughter
Playful screams
No more lovers carving their names
Promising bed covers hoping for dreams

The blues singer choruses

Dusty old train Memphis midnight shoes
Smokestacks lightning mountain songs and booze
Judge jury… jail the hangman too
Lonely Liza or Les Paul old man gotta choose

The country singer twangs

Ford or Chevy pedals and metal gears
Lost my girl to a wino stuck alone 20 years
Lipsticks dry baby ran out of tears
Dusty road rain won’t wash away fears
But I’ve got song and my dog and my beer

Sustantivos muses

I could go on talking bout the bald fat old
Opera singers
Or the homeless man on the corner waving a cup
With last fingers
All of them just cliches
More sad stories more dead ringers

They’re all hanging on to something they lost
Trying to be hung onto.
To live beyond their last thoughts
To live a life worth a song to

You won’t be hung from til you’ve been lost

No one will care unless you made a sound
Written some words, thrown some leaves on the ground
Thrown some shade. Rode some waves
Played like Clapton
Sang like Brown

3 thoughts on “Layla in a man’s world”

  1. There’s a lot here to unpack. First I love the adventuring format. Perfectly, unique. Thematic. Parts that make a whole, wholly able to survive individually, but there sum is greater than their parts. Experimenting is a trip. Keep up the journey. Lou Reed is weeping,…Doo, doo doo, doo doo, doo doo doo…

    Liked by 1 person

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