I Came of Age in a Time of No Heroes

I came of age in a time of no heroes

except for the horn man

who blew jazz blue bebop music 

from a golden wailing sax

to the city canyon tall buildings

to all who passed and those

… who didn’t.

 

A regular feature

on a regular corner

on regular nights

making unregular sounds

for irregular people

who were regularly groovin’

on something irregular

… or not.

 

A time of the beat poet

alcohol drug induced creative 

writing, art, music, sex.

Jack, Diane, Allen, Lawrence

Neal and all the many more

who pushed it all so the 

normal might think

… or not.

 

I came of age in a time of no heroes

lost in city funk

writing, drinking, smoking

lost in loves in a one 

room flat with a mattress

on the floor and a needle 

in my arm 

… and hers.

 

Many years many loves

now reformed to 2.5 kids

in a suburban nightmare

creativity in lost a box store

where I lost my soul 

in aisle 3 by the canned goods

I sleep in dreams 

… of lost times.

 

I sleep in dreams of the horn man’s 

music still moving in my soul

permanent in my empty psyche 

of sad love loss and life

while I sob to sleep

my father’s golden sax

stares its one eye

from the shelf

… now quiet.

 

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