Old Highway 61 Redux

God tells his people where to put the bleachers
while The Gambler eyes the odds
while a siren whistle screams
while a painter paints the sky
while Abram rocks his son.

People got problems.
Problems got people.
Problem people.
People problems.

I might be a problem person.
I might be a people problem.
That’s okay.
It’s okay.

Bleachers filling up as
The Gambler lays his money down.
Christians and lions
and hunchbacks
and starlets
ride The Beast,
hoping to catch a break.

Place yer bets, folks.
It’s the mother/father of all bombs,
right here on Highway 61.
Covenant be damned.

And Jesus wept.

HEY! JESUS! YA WIN SOME… YA LOSE SOME!

The dream again.
Night.
I look up and behold!
Oh starry night!

Weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath
the artist’s loving hand.

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