Blue Hour
Blue hour
The music stays low
On the concrete I stand, waiting alone
The air
Like liquid flows, and compresses and caries
Away the words as they’re spoke
But I can still hear you
That spook,
In midnight,
Alien, lights up a stick
Blue hour
Like murky water
Jazz jive flows out the window ; onto the street
Street
Concrete
And the yellow lines fade
away into white town
in the land of the burbs
where the homes are big
and everybody there’s just
a little bit tight
and everybody’s white
and they’re leaning to the right
talkin’ all shite about those people down
on the scary side of town
how they ain’t livin right
that it’s their own damn fault
that they keep themselves down
but still !
silhouetted through black tinted windows by
the cigarette’s orange glow, their
feminine beauty, yet
it’s faux !
Because inside, you know
it ain’t true
when you’re
judging and scoffing
Lord have mercy on you !
Actually, don’t !
Ask me if you deserve it,
I’d say no
and still ! their
cars just roll
on, past the pavement, let it
roll, let it roll,
let it roll
Blue hour,
In the rain I hear
Almost, the « good folks » chortling, over
Glasses of wine
And grumbling and mumbling, and wasting their time
Over small talk and vacations and tiny glasses of tea
And pretending to help all the « bad folks » like you, and me
There ain’t no use to try and change them, still they’ll just let
It roll up it’s windows and then
Pretend it don’t see them
And drown
Out their noise
When it speaks like freedom
Blue hour
The cool jazz flows
Out the window
And beats into the street
Everything it knows
So let it roll like thunder
With its deafening tones
Let it take away
All the words as they’re spoke
Like the muted voice of the rain
Through the blue hour
I can still hear you
The music stays low
On the concrete I stand, waiting alone
The air
Like liquid flows, and compresses and caries
Away the words as they’re spoke
But I can still hear you
That spook,
In midnight,
Alien, lights up a stick
Blue hour
Like murky water
Jazz jive flows out the window ; onto the street
Street
Concrete
And the yellow lines fade
away into white town
in the land of the burbs
where the homes are big
and everybody there’s just
a little bit tight
and everybody’s white
and they’re leaning to the right
talkin’ all shite about those people down
on the scary side of town
how they ain’t livin right
that it’s their own damn fault
that they keep themselves down
but still !
silhouetted through black tinted windows by
the cigarette’s orange glow, their
feminine beauty, yet
it’s faux !
Because inside, you know
it ain’t true
when you’re
judging and scoffing
Lord have mercy on you !
Actually, don’t !
Ask me if you deserve it,
I’d say no
and still ! their
cars just roll
on, past the pavement, let it
roll, let it roll,
let it roll
Blue hour,
In the rain I hear
Almost, the « good folks » chortling, over
Glasses of wine
And grumbling and mumbling, and wasting their time
Over small talk and vacations and tiny glasses of tea
And pretending to help all the « bad folks » like you, and me
There ain’t no use to try and change them, still they’ll just let
It roll up it’s windows and then
Pretend it don’t see them
And drown
Out their noise
When it speaks like freedom
Blue hour
The cool jazz flows
Out the window
And beats into the street
Everything it knows
So let it roll like thunder
With its deafening tones
Let it take away
All the words as they’re spoke
Like the muted voice of the rain
Through the blue hour
I can still hear you