Poetry
We sped backward down the alleyway
It was exhilarating but the fear crept in while the twilight was immersing all the buildings in red light.
Sunglasses on the dash reflecting the motion reversed.
As I look over the back seats.
I was with the band and everyone was scattered
In different parts of the boulevard
A jazz club and a coffee house and an old family restaurant slotted to be demolished
The building was well over 180 years old.
I was going to go to the other side of the city to do the photographs because part of it was on the hills
The light lingered there a little longer that the lower elevations
We all have manifestations of the mystery
In the dark
While the sun cuts away at the day
And the music rolls over the dust and cradles
The cavities of your ears
For the soul she says
When it holds you like that
Two lovers in a close dance.
I see one side of the warehouse painted the deepest black in existence
Vantablack or black 3.0
I think a yellow font or some script
Scrolled there would be like the sun
Pouring out of the cracks into the day
At any hour
Great for design or the imagination
Or a passer by lost in a depressive
Thought.
I ask the drummer where
Will they play next on the tour
He says they are off for a few days
To recharge
We always want to be our best.
As I photograph some old factory
Smokestacks above the crumbling brick warehouses
My lens scatters and makes
It all kaleidoscopic
The birds make an appearance as the shutter goes off in the-frame
My passion spreads like a nebula
And I feel weightless inside
At that moment two homeless men ask me for spare change
I open a little felt pouch in my pocket and it’s filled with old currency
Over 92 years old
Some pieces from the 60’s still made of silver
I give one dollar and say I am an artist
And he says
This will buy me some red tomatoes.
Francis A Willey
September 23
2022