Blues #5: In the Wee Wee Hours*

Maybe everything began with wood and strings
stretched across the throats of dirt roads
strung across the fruitless fields of the
sun hammered Delta calling down a rain
of syncopated weeping heard only in secret.
[In the wee wee hours]
It could also have been Zeus moving in the shadow
of Manhattan prowling the potholed streets of
Queens meeting my mother for cigarettes and beer
in the off hours of a windowless honky-tonk bar.
[That's when I think of you]
Maybe time held all our experiences in a gold jar
buried in the heat of twenty double suns
bound in piano wire and sealed in the wax
of dead ox blood waiting to burst into us.
[In the wee wee hours]
Or maybe it was as simple as a button
breaking off the seamless white shirt
of our founding fathers waiving papers in the
wake of the just departed Enlightenment with the eyes
of black faces left standing in the station.
[That's when I think of you]
But it could well have been a big legged Venus
crushing the sky with iron knees and bulging breasts and
only letting go when diamonds broke out of the
coal dust clouds over Earth's unbegotten towns.
[You say, but yet I wonder]
So I told my children that it was Enkidu
who took a bag of neutrons and hurled it into
the center of a hydrogen powered dot
that blew a hole in the void blowing up the restlessness of everything
of the plants of the animals and how the love of gravity held
the whole together and overcame the chaos of useless days and nights
and I made for them a pillow of lies born of the cloth
of the generations and the generations before them.
[If your love was ever true]

*In the Wee Wee Hours, Chuck Berry, 1955.

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