Curb Damage

Why does the DJ
play the same old songs
when I need something new,
the magic, the birth
of new horns and words
instead of
howling like wolf's prey
knowing it's going to die.

Horns and words,
prayers to the gods
in the sky . . .

oh my Lord,

Oh,my Lord . . .


Caught a note from the radio.

A single note,
a beginning,
something new,
something bordering on
beautiful . . . and then,

it was gone, leaving
just the pain
where I'd fallen
and my head hit the curb –

leaving me howling,
like wolf prey,
knowing I'm going to die,
because
the smell of curb damage,
coppery, metallic,
plentiful enough,
alcoholic senses spilled,

the smell of Death

wolf prey,
wolf prey,
knowing
it's going to die.





© wesley james beard, jr.