The sidewalks always
feel weird under foot
this wrecked late hour.
You in your cool
nightdress
and
warm lips
have left me again
with those
gloomy woodshed blues.
The neon signs like
music play a ragtime
suite. A beggar holds
out a hand like a
broken instrument
hanging in the doorway.
He is teaching redbrick
desires and I am going
star-hitching
playing birdlike
circle anxieties
in this dark
dark
hour of the night.
I hear drum rhythms
broadcasting
contemplation
blasting marches
go flapping collars
downtown my head
is marching.
Posted for dVerse– Under the Influence of Music.
Cybernetic Tongues Tasting Babel 
It happened to me more than once…star hitching happens when we trip in love, and the song is the same blues melody each time..lonely yet strangely comforting music…nice.
nice… i like how one song flows into the next… the city night has its very own tunes and magic..
The night city has a music of its own.. like how you painted its image.
star hitchin sounds fun….second one on the right and sail on til morning…smiles…
downtown def makes me think of marching a bit…the urban beat of feet
on concrete….
I specially admire the second stanza (star-hitching) – Love that play of music and its rhythm marching in your head ~
“Those gloomy woodshed blues”
I like!
the beat of the concrete… the rhythm of flashing neon signs; I love how you’ve found the tune that beats naturally in the city streets…
I enjoyed both the rhythm and the atmosphere of your poem, Matt. Great street scene!
I love the scene you have painted with your words.. Well penned.
“You in your cool
nightdress
and
warm lips
have left me again
with those
gloomy woodshed blues.”
My favorite part her in contrast of comfort and bliss of love..
to those gloomy woodshed blues.. that most of us.. have tried to describe to others..
when visiting this place in the journeys of life.. that aren’t so bright….but still a worthy part of it..:)
Loved the woodshed blues and the going star hitching – very cool
This took me down dark alleys in Greenwich Village looking to score some jazz. Great wordplay here with my fave being, “A beggar holds out a hand like a broken instrument
hanging in the doorway.” I love this poem!
Cheers,
Mark Butkus