Return to New York City

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Return to New York City, a poem by Greg Powell for Being Hueman

Return to New York City Wee hour flight out of night into past and future future and past Emotions commingling Return to New York City Decades of strata removed from the streets I ran From job to job late night on screaming graffiti gallery trains moving faster than light speed and slower than the grind of earth A wife, two […]

Dolores Marie Costa

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Dolores Marie Costa, a poem by Greg Powell

Dolores Marie Costa (Returning to NYC, July 2018) I don’t know you nor your ghost, the relic of your being buried like dinosaur bones of under traumatized ground touch Your name Like a spirit archaeologist Trying to find you But the stone is cold and ornate Maybe you are in the stream Of water descending into hole Square grave hole […]

Evil

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Poetry about Robert Johnson by Greg Powell

Evil (For Robert Johnson) locked out from history, rage bleeds red hue in eyes, exiled by hell hounds in ghetto of hope mocking days. skies crying cremation for my soul. nights churning blues in haze of whiskey spells. aint got nothing and nothing to lose. i be evil. satan is my insane name. thirsty razor in pocket. murder vision churning […]

For Billy Branch and Sons of the Blues

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Billy Branch and Sons of the Blues by Greg Powell

For Billy Branch and Sons of the Blues seventh sons of seven sons of seventeen sun sultans of seven suns be Sons of the Blues. mirrors crawl along black walls broken by lavatory doors and pathways emitting garden of fried scents conjured in the kitchen and windows open to midnight desolation of east 79th chandeliers drip spots of electric lights […]