Walking to the Blues
Of this Beat Poet’s Shadow
By Patrick Ben Oviedo Jr.
© July 9th, 2007
I just had to walk 'cross town to find that old news stand 'cause I heard that it was cool
I just had to read about you; how you broke our hearts with all that shit you use do
I just had to read on how you often spoke of the truth and how everybody lies
The news was sad, the worlds been had, but just the same, it’s these opium dipped cloves and tequila that brings tears to my eyes
You were wasting precious moments, thumbing thru some girlie magazine
That’s when she moved right past me like a chilled breeze in the earliest of spring
Aloof in her gaze, it was clear she was totally hip to your melancholy tune
Walking away soft as a whisper; Ah, the scent of jasmine and hope mating in full bloom
I noticed you had seen her, and were thinking just like me; hoping; wishing; wanting
Would she take that sweet funk, hair and sweat; that silk essence oozing from her skin
Spread it all over this sorry broken hide, aching from the unforgiving sins;
Mmm, with shameful pride; I’d have to gloat; Mmm, I’d have to boast;
To have such perfect cream cheese wasted on such crispy burnt toast
I saw you staggering akimbo, tipping back a pocket rocket; sneered eyed and a skewed
Cigarette in one hand, peering out that rat fink eye, ranting out something almost new
I remember when I first caught your wisdom how I wished I was you
Just a memory now; a black and white portrait of someone we loved through and true
So I shook my head in dissent and then played it off rubbing my neck; "'Tis my crick"
My heart ached in empathy when you yelled mournfully “Christ! Buddy! You don’t know the meaning of heartache!”
You welled a tear up in your eye; pseudo sincerity; indignation and not another word
Just a gnarly sneer down that two pound beak some fool once said was your nose
You sat back on your throne; a rain soaked stack of news papers dated back by a day, a week, month or a year; fuck! Who cares?
You chose to communicate now only thru a sign that read “Today’s racing digest sold here,” so step right up and get it, and set your ease at fear
Another night in some dive with old wooden bar stools that creak like my neck
A few free beers or a shot or two eases a grin from a grungy mug and it’s easy to forgive
You gave me your wisdom like some street guru, thru a microphone soaked in spit bourbon and blues
Or maybe it was cheap scotch and a ditty ‘bout some damsel with auburn hair, milky white skin and large supple breasts in shiny high heeled patented leather shoes
The “clink” of a low ball glass on a tin can; a pat on the head; brings bad breath and some endearment in your heartfelt drunken sincerity, “You’re all right, kid.”
I breathe right back, “I love you too, Daddy”
I know I’m still a fool cause’ sometimes I wish I was you and I’ll just keep on walking
Walking to the blues of this beat poet’s shadow
Of this Beat Poet’s Shadow
By Patrick Ben Oviedo Jr.
© July 9th, 2007
I just had to walk 'cross town to find that old news stand 'cause I heard that it was cool
I just had to read about you; how you broke our hearts with all that shit you use do
I just had to read on how you often spoke of the truth and how everybody lies
The news was sad, the worlds been had, but just the same, it’s these opium dipped cloves and tequila that brings tears to my eyes
You were wasting precious moments, thumbing thru some girlie magazine
That’s when she moved right past me like a chilled breeze in the earliest of spring
Aloof in her gaze, it was clear she was totally hip to your melancholy tune
Walking away soft as a whisper; Ah, the scent of jasmine and hope mating in full bloom
I noticed you had seen her, and were thinking just like me; hoping; wishing; wanting
Would she take that sweet funk, hair and sweat; that silk essence oozing from her skin
Spread it all over this sorry broken hide, aching from the unforgiving sins;
Mmm, with shameful pride; I’d have to gloat; Mmm, I’d have to boast;
To have such perfect cream cheese wasted on such crispy burnt toast
I saw you staggering akimbo, tipping back a pocket rocket; sneered eyed and a skewed
Cigarette in one hand, peering out that rat fink eye, ranting out something almost new
I remember when I first caught your wisdom how I wished I was you
Just a memory now; a black and white portrait of someone we loved through and true
So I shook my head in dissent and then played it off rubbing my neck; "'Tis my crick"
My heart ached in empathy when you yelled mournfully “Christ! Buddy! You don’t know the meaning of heartache!”
You welled a tear up in your eye; pseudo sincerity; indignation and not another word
Just a gnarly sneer down that two pound beak some fool once said was your nose
You sat back on your throne; a rain soaked stack of news papers dated back by a day, a week, month or a year; fuck! Who cares?
You chose to communicate now only thru a sign that read “Today’s racing digest sold here,” so step right up and get it, and set your ease at fear
Another night in some dive with old wooden bar stools that creak like my neck
A few free beers or a shot or two eases a grin from a grungy mug and it’s easy to forgive
You gave me your wisdom like some street guru, thru a microphone soaked in spit bourbon and blues
Or maybe it was cheap scotch and a ditty ‘bout some damsel with auburn hair, milky white skin and large supple breasts in shiny high heeled patented leather shoes
The “clink” of a low ball glass on a tin can; a pat on the head; brings bad breath and some endearment in your heartfelt drunken sincerity, “You’re all right, kid.”
I breathe right back, “I love you too, Daddy”
I know I’m still a fool cause’ sometimes I wish I was you and I’ll just keep on walking
Walking to the blues of this beat poet’s shadow
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