4am Zen Sunday Blue
4 a.m. snow blowing like a red-hot Dixieland band
swirling curling before the bulbous cop helmet
streetlight hanging mid-air on the postal wall.
Clarinet rising trumpets hooting
angels of the forgotten night
dancing the sullen decks of heat street boulevard
in ragged half-time boots.
Sailor shaking the biting frost
his dragon ship juice burning a hole in the blue neon wind
Shanghai Paris Beauté door swings open
flicking dead ice moons.
I smolder like a hot bubble atop the red neon stew
four floors up and out of this world
watching the swirl.
Roma kids hiding out for a daybreak hit
got to please shady cat boss with his violin grin
upright man says what gives
gets a big size bite
and the howl goes up.
Cervantes said Gypsies were born to be thieves
who did he steal from?
tonight I’d light a street fire bright
for a carol, a dream, a saraband flight
sad trombone rides in on the pre-dawn wind.
4 a.m. same hour I got your message said call me
and I knew we were fresh outta luck brother
that cutlass call piercing my guts.
Fate sliced a mean sleight of hand
you weren’t supposed to go Dick Deadeye
last soul of my family fleet
taken down to the mean devil seas.
Wasn’t an easy ride you and I
it got better as we stood side by side
facing remains in the graveyard rains.
4 a.m. breathless blue light orphan
staring out at a wasted distant shore
snow baked Dixie orchestra New Year’s packed and gone
parlez-moi d’amour tinkling piano
under the nomad twinkling stars.