Blues Jerusalem

I

All is unwell at the well

where the barking birds

whistle and five dollars

may as well be five hundred

Drums whisper, the gentle

lilting flute falls on deaf ears;

the Cadillac blues band

is just too damn loud

Listeners can only hear

the deep down out and proud

of patio chairs as the damn

breaks at the wanderlust dusk

Ten years after we exchanged

a white shirt for black,

the barkers are back

and we scream into night

II

All is quite well at the well ...

all is well, well, well

and the contrasts

in the gloaming,

so stark, form rainbows

gleaming from bed bug eyes,

young bucks, fresh faces

as the last boat is loaded

and pointed toward

an imagined meridian line:

Thank sweet Jesus we didn't

cross the continent

in a Mussolini time

III

Cadillac Angels, Route 66,

Heritage Square, five-o-eight p.m.,

the next to last day of autocratic August ...

stand up bass, white shirt, cowboy hat,

sunlight, a bit bright, sunglasses, dark,

as the drum circles behind me

at the first well drilled in Flagstaff

percolate into the overculture

of red rocks rock-a-billy

celebrating the gasohaulic furies

of people who cannot let go ...

O, to whatever

hearing I have left,

praise thee ...

IV

Look here, in the cold air,

off-peak hours, the cinder

is soft, a softened crown

to the demons all drowned

as the stratus clouds

of shielded sun

requires some place

purposeful to be

and as she sleeps

beneath the cover

of dirty bed bug blankets

the heartbeat pulse

of Bob Marley

never rests

~ Douglas McDaniel
Mythville, America