Never use fuck in a poem

even if your best friend dies

and you know he would like that because he was like that

the word just jumps out at inappropriate times 

whenever I remember he's gone

And never let them see you cry

when you think of all the fun you had

and you know you'll never do it again

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck this wasn't supposed to happen 

He saw the beauty my eyes missed

velvet clover Mississippi meadows

dank timeless delta swamps 

winters hung up steaming hogs 

spread bled pink and shaved

tiny hidden churchs full of musky warm mysterious sweet love characters 

in their finest Sunday clothes

thank you for taking me there

In the predawn stillness of Memphis he heard the distant wailing trains 

and fully understood it's not important to understand

cries that will forever remind me of him

always digging deeper behind everything seemingly easy and obvious

God Please make Saint Francis right about the eternal life thing

help me see him in the eyes of others

and let that soul stay with me forever

When I see the majestic kingdom of clouds in the calmness of Coldwater river

through the sites of your black revolver

a floating rusty Schlitzcan

I'll hear a longing clarinet from a group of wise cypress knees

your three penny opera harmonica 

an ancient gypsy accordion 

dark in the delta trees her voice from an earlier universe 

singing a language I know but don't understand

a song of unfathomable love 

warming the marrow in my arms

then I'll see you looking down from your window over Shinbone Alley

I'll hear your deep gut laughter saying go now to old Jaffa 

and dance for the Jews who knew like me and psychic mulatto Doc Cherokee 

that now never counts on tomorrow