alternative, free verse, improvisation, literature, music, poetry, rock, Uncategorized, underground, writing

Elegy for a Dead Black Angel

Take a walk on the wild side

New Jersey

Mom caught you

Naked with the neighbour boy

They locked you up

To shock the queer out of you

They killed their son

Wiped your memory clean

Filled it up with new, wholesome trauma.

Hopped a bus to New York City.

Turned tricks for a university tuition

A writer with an electric guitar

And a welsh viola player

In a lower east side bar.

They started a rock and roll band

Worked all day in factory

For your visionary artist-boss

Shooting speed

And heroin on film

to capture the artist essence

of capitalist america.

You told your boss to fuck off.

You told the band to fuck off.

You roamed the streets of New York

A scavenger, a real rock and roll animal

with black sunglasses and anything goes.

You shook the stage with the Starman.

You butchered your guitar

It sounded beautiful..

You became noise

Immortality in the locked groove of a record.

Jack Blare, 2016

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