d.a. levy

d. a. levy*



when you roll up the streets in greater Cleveland,
you just never know who you'll bump into late
night in the summer-city, with only the glare of
streetlights, neon signs and fireflies poking holes
in the darkness,
these lines criss-cross with saints, poets and bums,
some commoners smoking something or another
some blues brothers and sisters with or without
(and you never quite know who is who)
salty-sweet salacious appetites, the nearly-dead roaming
with the homeless, bloody in the head,
having tea
(in their imagination) with the rich and famous,
who by now, are a dime-a-dozen,
it all comes together in poem outfitted
in a second-hand seersucker suit
acrid of effigy,
burning like originality and chalk-art on her sidewalks,
thin red lines
between life and whiskey-breath
between the real-steel magnolias, and graveyards
with headstones toppled, broken into pieces
by youth too dead to speak
like d.a. levy, hankering for walk
about town.





*d.a.levy was home grown... http://www.clevelandmemory.org/levy/