Listen to poem:
into the void
As I slip into the void,
of this endless black;
a moonless sea séance;
there's no way back,
for black is black,
flack is flack!
The blues I stack,
into my backpack.
Are old bent music notes
of bottleneck-drawn cries.
Sung in well-past midnight bars
lamenting what I've misspent
in twelve-bar lag dues.
The sea and sky know why,
I'm not coming back.
They never knew me.
They just sailed right through me.
Like a freight train moaning
on a tear-stained track—
sending me flying away, flying away.
Why? Can't I say?
Why? They washed we away!
There's no anchor here
to belay my stay,
to make me rue the day.
So I can't delay
for another day, no no longer!
So I slip my bottleneck slide
down the frets,
screaming a high-note cry;
squealing to a high-end bend,
into the empty void,
of my black-hole blues.
Black is black, flack is flack,
There's no coming back
from these old black-eyed,
black-hole blues.
No coming back
from these old black-eyed,
black-hole blues.
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