Day 587, February 9, 2022

 Ode to Betty Davis

Tired like an old dried fish hanging on a string. A shiny bubble, glistening and swirling with color, just before it pops. I hear a little Hendrix. Hardness attracts hardness, Imagine the arguments, the love making, the taste of blood. Stare at a record label long enough and you get dizzy. Did you hear that last verse? The one banned from the radio? It makes me feel like I am climbing out of a greasy pipe. Eating cheese and crackers while she was flying a spaceship clear through the room, the oscillations leaving ripples in people’s glasses. I wonder of the pilgrimages to Homestead, if people waited on the sidewalk, climbed the front steps, stood on her porch. How much does an old lady still bestow on her admirers? Can it be anything like eating a hot donut out of a brown paper bag? Some people are born with confidence. Some people are unwavering. Or at least they seem that way, sometimes. Music so deep it turns the molecules over in their sleep. One cannot but swagger and smile.