Specters in the Dark

A cry, a soundless wail in the distance

Calls, seeking relief, redress

Images, memories emerge, awaken

Wanting to enter

Wraith at the horizon, the boundary of vision

Treads, leaving no prints except those familiar pathways in my soul

I grieve the dead

I mourn the now cold life that was

Ought is now not and haunts me still

But what have I do to with specters in the dark

Except, breathless, trembling I turn

Knowing the wraith is me

Weeping alone there in the shadows

Asked for a theme and some words from the audience.  Got Dirty Laundry as the theme and the words stains – spots – spit – worn. Took a few minutes and jotted down what follows.  Davis had a new program he was playing with to get a piano sound out of his guitar.  Will work on the audio.

R- Dirty Laundry. It keeps on piling up.  Every day I bring it home, My dirty Laundry.

1. I talked to the preacher about my stains and how my praying just seems in vain.  Can’t seem to get away from my dirty laundry
2. I went to My Place to find relief.  There were folks from the corner and in from the street.  There are those who have and those who have not.  And we all keep hidden our sweet secret spots.
3. Some days are dirty and some days will shine.  This day, that day they all are all mine.  Some days are dry and I can’t work up spit, and sometimes I laugh in spite of this shit.
4. But though I get tattered and torn and the veil of this house is weakened and worn.  I grit my teeth and set my face, I kick up my heals and pick up the pace.  But tonight I’m not going to worry bout no dirty laundry.

Perfection is not in the form but rather in the thing itself.  The Hallelujah erupts from within the intercourse between the sacred and the profane.  The light breaks through the cracks in the darkness. – Plato (the younger)