1. The Boston Blues

I’ve ebbed up human
barely, my nerve-tick
irony salting the beach
white as the bones
in Ezekiel’s valley
of mad resurrections.

I’ve come from the dark
forecastle of the self,
a keel-hauled member
of Ahab’s crew, elected
Calvinist to love
some Shaker beauty.

2. The Kansas City Blues

After booze and weed
and the slow, big muddy
of late night hopes,
it all gets personal,
baby, whether or not
you’ve been saved.

In pain’s stark spot
I blow a toy
copy of Bird’s alto,
pissing off friends
with rank repetition
and bad self-cutting,

what they’ll do
themselves, LPs
on full automatic,
like in Paris, man,
blue notes aplenty
with small resolution.

William Ford