The Boss Aka Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band

The boss aka Bruce Springsteen and the E Street band Bruce Frederick Joseph Springsteen born at Monmouth Medical Center in Long Branch, New Jersey, on September 23, 1949. His nationalities include hodgepodge of Dutch, Irish, and Italian descent. He grew up Catholic in Freehold, New Jersey. I dedicate the following poem to aforementioned musician, whose figurative guitar finger kept on the throbbing pulse resoundingly reverberating across American heartland. this cautious man (bobby jean) born in the u.s.a. grownin’ up in the badlands of atlantic city bonded with blood brothers felt born to run along backstreets in brilliant disguise that did cover me frequently blinded by the light of the full moon casting silhouettes against darkness on the edge of town which lunar shafts pierced candy’s room, while immersed in book of dreams describing better days on a Cadillac ranch where devils & dust - visible dancing in the dark celebrating like calendar showered 4th of july or other glory days in darlington county even though I ain’t got you. livin’ in the future mine hungry heart hankered and felt like I’m on fire for you, this fire in me craved human touch desire - roaring into the ole factory fire because I wanna marry you because the night populated with girls in their summer clothes each dazzling like 57 channels (and nothin’ on) in imagination of my american skin descended from when adam raised a cain before last to die forecasting kingdom of days now dwelling in celestial mansion on the hill. now rightfully claim status of I’m a rocker/ local hero and I’m goin’ down meeting across the river if I should fall behind on the downbound train as living proof within light of day magic jungleland policed by highway patrolman i.e. johnny 99 alias johnny bye bye – held up without a gun defending this lucky town established on Matamoras banks from an incident on 57th street thus celebrated as local hero every independence day when, with murder incorporated firing point blank out in the street that staccato new york city serenade from no surrender outlaw pete originally from nebraska. it’s hard to be a saint in the city open all night within my hometown once my father’s house, now my city of ruins where tis moot to ask does this bus stop at 82nd street? one step up into the pink Cadillac hops the ramrod queen of the supermarket teasing audio dials sans radio nowhere a red headed woman racing in the street toward secret garden to save my love – with thee angel rosalita (come out tonight) offering reason to believe roll of the dice real world and to prove it all night from spare parts – shards of roulette wheel housing souls of the departed please save my love and stolen car for sherry darling – that spirit in the night she’s the one among souls of the departed no longer stopped by state trooper precinct based along streets of philadelphia some crackling like streets of fire straight time mandate for those armed to the teeth along tenth avenue freeze-out. requiem per terry’s song – what love can do accompanied by e street shuffle performed in somber tones rumbling down thunder road for souls of used cars two hearts crushed along this hard land for: the ghost of tom joad the last carnival homage to wild billy’s circus story the price you pay when you’re alone working on a dream now wreck on the highway. we take care of our own from youngstown when heading of to the promised land the rising distant mystical eden where you can look, (but you’d better not touch) espying the river of salvation joining eternally the ties that bind a tunnel of love or like the wrestler pinning opponent tougher than the rest like laborers working on the highway chiseled like this hard land!