In The Mirror
She needs more and more light to see,
tea lights, Japanese lanterns, anything...
even fireworks to ignite the scene just below her
anointed field of vision
Some days though, it’s the suffering blood-red candle wax,
and China platters that chip old varnish from her desk
If she’s lucky, sunlight will creep along on her ledge,
peeking like a Tom through slats of dusty blinds over bars
She finally drools a few words on the page, hot and heavy-like
Keeping the sun’s glow in a jar next to the patchouli-scented patches of aged denim,
she hums a few bars of, ‘The Hurdy Gurdy Man’,
while she waits for her number to come up...
...just bein' Bluesy