MOJO WORKING (with respect to McKinley Morganfield)

 

Wow,

a brand new notebook

to fill with tales

of Dead trips

and empty hot sauce containers

 

and some adventure died

and I forgot it

for awhile

and lost my way

 

The rebellion ceased to exist

in even the simplest moments

and a part of me

did die that day

 

and I recover full force

to find myself

on the Mississippi River

celebrating Faulkner

and Mark Twain

 

but the Dixieland jazz

just wasn’t enough

to please my soul anymore

 

Streets of the French Quarter

with their breath of centuries

in the bygone eras

we all reminisce

within our subconscious

 

It really isn’t all that deep

to get by on voodoo

with subtle spells cast

 

I can’t recite out loud

through the saxophones

and accordions and violins

that are all singing

their individual song

 

I got my mojo in hand

but I’m not too sure

if I should go there

just yet tonight

 

I’m still another couple
Abita Purple Hazes away

from doing something like that

 

as the easy women

work their hustles

and I’m innocent enough

to fall for their wiles

 

but I have fun

in their success

even though I pity them

to a certain extent

 

because all of us

have had our souls

run down like that

if you really

give it some honest thought

 

Experience sours the growth

as we all battle

to get through the night

still in one piece

 

and I still manage

to leave the place

with a smile on my face

 

4-25-98

 

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