BLIND SIDE

sitting around after hours at the Harlem Nocturne
drinking the best bootleg whiskey we could buy
mixed with the aural flow of the blues
and the emotion filled voice of Blind Willie Johnson
his exquisite slide guitar moaning like a wounded animal
the soul of a man transcending darkness into light
screaming and crying without weeping
making sure the lights keep shining
with Blind Lemon Jefferson's high voice
and black snake moan at odds with the music
in the dark
but always able to see
the poor epileptic fellow in the corner
and the peach orchid mama at the front table
eyes closed
keeping time in the tin cup blues
waiting for the second coming
of Blind Willie and Blind Lemon
where love is dark and blind
we sit