I wonder
if I finally understand
the blues
at the wee hours
on thursday morning

I used to think
they were about
losing
but they're not
they're about
loss

I knew the blues
as the pain
of a slap
the pain
of being mistaken
the painstaking
rebuilding of my psyche

Now I see
they are the pain
in your chest
that pushes you into a ball
the sting in your eyes
of tears that don't come
the numb dispassion
of living

The blues are what happens
when you grow up
out of your idealistic years
and you look in the mirror

what I see is beautiful
but it is useless
and despicable
profiled
known
pedestrian

I could try to sing
but I'd only croak
because the blues
seize your throat

I don't know how Billie did it.

8/12/04