USA

mlarsen@cltresearch.com

Blues For My Red
Follow and find me
Haunt and mock me
Like a moon jumping over rooftops
Always there
In unnamed neighborhoods
At the crossroads 
Of Times and Square
In the middle of Broadway
On the street formerly known as Prince
Oh hell baby
Every corner was our corner
All I can do is hum along
Feel the bass of your love
Loose in my ribcage
Thumping me back
Into all I need to know

When The Sound Of A Trumpet
Is so beautiful
all I can do
is hang my head
and think of you.

This celebration
in this park
with these people - 
it's alright,
but the trumpet player knows
something is wrong,
and his solo leaves clues
up and down my spine.

It's Charlie Parker's birthday
and I'm sitting next to J.W.,
and somewhere else in this park,
I'll discover tomorrow, is my father,
and the sun is hanging in the sky
like a big fat baseball that just won't come down,
and it doesn't get much better than this.

Just could someone tell the trumpet player
to leave me alone.

© All Copyright, 2000, Mark Larsen.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.