the last time i saw david

he was dead
scrunched down too far
in his coffin, his skin,
pale & shiny
like a dime-store doll,

his beard already
breaking through
the makeup –
yeah bro looks like
decadance has lost its shine…

i watched him change
from a big-eyed kid
to a lowdown
roadhouse stomper;
flying that wild
electric-flag hair,

prowling the stage
like a hungry cat,
playing in tongues,
while thumping drums
tracked down
the voodoo

then bang – lying there
pale & voiceless
blue notes locked
in a bronze-colored box
sightless atoms
that could not be moved…

… almost thirty years ago
a sad, crazy, gray day
thundering drunk, all of us
angry about
the good times
you were gonna miss

well, the band played on,
wheels kept turning,
& days blinked out
like forgotten lamps
in a ghost town

but “wild man” – just so you know

times never
got any fucking better…

D. B. Cox

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