Poem: “He Outdrew Me”

A memory, an apparition, fake,

a shotgun shack in which Jeff Buckley

is scribbling shorthand another Tim

or New York melody.

 

He is a lamp, shadeless,

worse remembered,

a sink’s knob untended

that floods the sound,

flailing waves of Led Zeppelin and Nina Simone.

 

The future is everything,

but I still forget

the slow, patient dog

of his affection.

 

Left his heart out of his grasp

and knelt from the throne of vitality

where the stained-glass man points

high above the Wolf River, black.

 

But remember Buckley.

And remember his younger father,

a tenor depraved released in a pill

and a black turtle neck.

 

Remember Jeff

with those Cafe Sin-e’ claps

under fifteen lively covers.

That is more to crumble me into the future,

fill its churches,

and sprint together towards the pulpits

singing John Cale’s rendition of Hallelujah.

 

Remember the past,

remember the tear-filled numbers in the pews,

the normality of their informal attire

in light of gradual life,

remember their individual calls,

the prayers and hands joined under the body,

the slam of the rising pulleyed gate.

2 thoughts on “Poem: “He Outdrew Me””

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