Monday, January 7, 2013


You use the keys to the city to cut the Rainbow’s rusty chain
Pulling it into your kitchen, you lick it while humming Patsy Cline
Your tongue whispers Roy G. Biv and blisters
On the outside you remain inky black

Shovel coal, eroded shoal
Life experiences that take their toll
Deep in the swamp a half burned shack
Society won’t take you back
You can’t escape from being black

You turn the radio up, music colors life
Singing tunes of redemption and sweet desire
Maybe delicious lyrics will color you brightly
On the inside you remain pitch black

Raving crow, sold out show
Slimy things they’re voices low
You can’t see, they’re on your back
Purple heart beat, smoking crack
You can’t escape from being black

You sit at the window and watch the birds
Experiences give character, a sixty-four box of crayons with sharpener
Your eyes see a world you want to explore with prying fingers
On your deathbed your thoughts are back alley black

Wispy smoke, worn out joke
Whiskey burns and makes you choke
You can’t control the death ships tack
You’ll never run the victory track
You can’t escape from being black


  1. this. So very good, love the images.

  2. What an amazing character sketch of an isolated individual. The swamp shack, back alley presence made all the more poignant by the need to sing along to tunes on the radio, find the colour that is missing in a life. I hate to think of a soul turned to black, so there is something of a cautionary tone to the whole, intensified by the sing song rhythm of the refrains.

  3. Roy G. Biv is a colorful man! but how can he know it with all that shit on his back?

  4. thats one rocknrolla piece...a tarantino film in verse!

  5. Love the rhyming verses especially, and their counterpoint with the narrative.......a wonderful write!