Work In Progress

Some nights are more poetic than others

Like tonight

Because I hadn’t checked with my daughter

To see if she was going to see Buddy Wakefield

As I was

But when I parked a block away and found the end of the line of ticket holders

There she was with a few friends

So I fell in

Like the line I wish I’d written

Watching poets and poet lovers

Crowd the sidewalk like it was a Hollywood opening

When, on cue, up comes a disheveled character

Bleary eyed wanderer

Who picked us to stop beside to cease perambulating

Who started orating a tale of psilocybin topsy

Wearing a crown of pussy willows, feathers and broccoli

There used to be a dandelion

He said when questioned

But I ate it

Do you know how many dandelions you should eat each year

A whole fucking lot he said

He told us he was from New York and babbled on

Then said he’d been in prison just recently released

Seemed plausible to me

Then he claimed to be from Trinidad

Which seemed less so but you never know

Until he said he’d just returned from Egypt

And that was the next place we should go

Taking a swig from a bottle of Mighty Milk

Which wasn’t at all milky but everclear

Shining moonbright against the darkening shadows

So when his shadow became too dark to bear

I sent him on another orbit

Which made our wait a little brighter

Until the doors opened on a night of poetry

Spoken word revelry

With the buzz of creation echoing down through starlight

From eternity to now

The now where I have witnessed the slow motion replay

Of the big bang in reverse

Watched creation unwinding through a mind’s eye

Voiced into our consciousness like stone tablets tumbling down a mountain

Creating shards of truth that shatter reality

One small piece at a time

One small peace

Finding small pieces of peace

Amidst cacophonies of language waterfalling

This is just a little of the mist that settled at the bottom

And though I’d like to represent the torrent

I can’t

Except to say

Oh my God

It was Buddy Fucking Wakefield

On fire with words

Living in the moment and dancing the only dance worth putting on shoes for

And it was never just a dance

But a sure footed display of verbosity

Words pulled into fleshly existence

Words that kissed and slapped us on the ass

Words that went in one ear and out to wonder

Words spoken with a lightness that makes gravity a fiction

Some nights are more than just poetic

Some nights stand vertical time on its head

Like tonight where the truth became words

Words inside

Words outside

Colliding and sliding

Into poetry



David Trudel    ©  2013



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