Soledad (And I, I am no longer of that world)

Naked, he lies in the blinded room

chainsmoking, cradled by drugs, by jazz

as never by any lover’s cradling flesh.

Miles Davis cooly blows for him:

O pena negra, (oh dark pain)

sensual Flamenco blues;

the red clay foxfire voice of Lady Day

(lady of the pure magnolias)

sobsings her sorrow and loss and fare you well,

drysweeps the pain his treacherous jailers,

have released him from for a while.

His fears and his unfinished self

await him down in the anywhere streets.

He hides on the dark side of the moon,

takes refuge in a stain glassed cell,

flies to a clockless country of crystal.

Only the ghost of Lady Day knows where he is.

Only the music.

And he swings oh swings:

beyond complete immortal now.

Robert Hayden – 1970

Oh to be cradled by a lover’s gentle flesh. 

What’s up family, sorry to have been gone so long.

Hope all is well ,



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