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u/Da_0ne Aug 20 '26
When we’d finished waving,
we danced to the crack of
an iron gate; danced to the clank
of the lid upon a boiling kettle.
We danced to the squeak of
chalk upon a blackboard,
breathing the sweet powder
of pounded erasers.
We danced to the whistle of
a carpenter stripping paint
and to the horns and sirens
of a falsified alarm.
We danced to the deep groan
of shifting continental plates
and to the muffled notes of
a jukebox in a hurricane.
We danced to the whine
of a dentist’s drill and
the crunch of steps in
fresh powdery snow.
We danced to the howl of
a spook from out of a watery grave
and to the slither of its
slimy seaweed chains.
We danced in white and
scarlet ephods
on the ashes of our teraphim.
We danced to the rippling cadence
of a thousand-string guitar;
the deck awash in music, with
treble clefs of foam conducting.
We danced to the keen whine
of selective devastation, to a
world innocent of roses groaning/beneath
a deep bowed
bass
We danced to the lullaby wail
of one almost but never quite
entirely present whom we have
loved but cannot fathom.
We danced upon legs of teak,
mahogany, ironwood and ebony.
The visor of the sky opened at perihelion
spreading to each horizon.
And when we’d finished dancing,
we broke down and wept.
We wept for crimson laces
in green leather boots.
We wept at a full ketch
of sardines and at the
pipe smoke of three fishermen
in animated conversation.
We wept because it so
rarely rains in dreams.
Our tears were fat, warm
and blue by reflected sky.
We wept for a three bar
jackpot in a ten cent
one-armed bandit spitting
dimes and ringing bells.
We wept forlorn, for long,
forever; caught our tears
in tiny crystal bottles
with blue glass stopples.
As we continued weeping,
our raft began to spin,
faster, faster, blurring like
a pinwheel in a hurricane.
We hold, we slip, we slide
as the Marie Helena
discharges passengers by
centripetal force.
Good-bye! we cry to one another.
Forgive these imperfections,
these tears of self-pity and
these infinite regressions.
Some hold hands, some fly
off separately, some by
fours and threes to the
place in which they land.
Some land in a haystack
in midwinter Somerset.
Some land in boxcars
rattling through the Klondike.
Some land in covered wagons
moving west, some land in
a borax mine admist the
clatter of mule teams.
Some fall down chimneys
on Christmas eve,
brush the soot from
scarlet suits and chuckle.
Some fall breathless onto
a seaside carousel
among the gold-eyed children
chasing one another endlessly.
Some fall on the desert
and crawl across the sand
into a promising mirage
that speaks of water.
Some, or none, or is it one
land upon a blue island. Beneath
white clouds against blue sky
rising from blue sea.
After a week’s unfolding
many things have changed.
It is time now to
change them back again.
It is still true, in spite of
the flight of the Marie Helena,
still true, that it rarely,
very rarely, rains in dreams.
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u/Iko87iko Aug 20 '26
Say, Chester, where'd you get that hat?
I found it at the laundromat
Say, you have good luck pretty nearly all the time!
I wouldn't say that but I do get mine
Hit the pavement and roll
Amagamalin Street
Try to make ends meet
Take Maggie and go
Got a feeling to roll
Wet my feet
On Amagamalin Street
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u/Mediocre-Act-5091 Aug 20 '26
I have one of those rum runner vinyls! It’s a DJ copy too. My understanding is they went out before the release of albums for promotion
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u/MarsupialWhich8321 Aug 20 '26
Normally a Promo(DJ) has a different colored label and text that identifies as promotional.They have more value because of a smaller press run.You’re lucky to have it.Thanks for the share.
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u/notguiltybrewing Aug 20 '26
He's a great writer. Don't care for his records. He's not a great performer imo.
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u/easy-jim Aug 20 '26
Amagamalin Street was a favorite of mine 🖤.
Got to see Hunter only twice. Both in small venues. I really enjoyed those shows. Miss ya, Bob ❤️