a rapper's delusion

mixed images snaked through my mind:

couples hugging as in embrace;

faces bound in colored stripes;

spent sperm swimming briskly;

Van Gogh's ear being re-opened;

rappers mouthing karaoke

not knowing what else to say

because booty and booze never cut a record

nor placed bread on another's table.

this was the nonsense seeking meaning

at a venue near a boutique cafe

in hopes a coveted music-maker

would stop to hear me thoroughly through.

but it's silly to wait much longer.

it's now a quarter to nine

and the gas-lamp lighter is roaming

through alleys making outrageous promises

while listening to my mental meanderings 

on a night when day hangs longer and longer.

it's time to move on.

hop a train and find a bed.

rest the rhythms circulating round my head

as they await the night when they'll be heard.

a tear, downtown

his hand was stretched

'twas food he sought.

i asked him who he was.

Danny was his name.

i was the first of 50;

none others cared to stop.

"will you shake my hand?

dirty, i know it is."

off slid my glove. 

it blew his scandalized mind.

i grasped his hands

and he praised God.

we shook each other warm.

he didn't label me a bum.