Memphis: A Response to William Blake's London
By Sean Barnes
I wonder if you would wander
near the Mississippi river view,
to mark the proud and the humbler,
mark the liars and mark the true.
In the thunder of the night heat,
in the crack of the horse's heel,
in heavy voices, in heavy streets,
some hear the call of the blue Beale.
Music flows like cheap beer to the floor.
A musician's paint, a painter's hymn,
escape for the rich, for the poor,
a poet's prose and writer's rhythm.
But as the night gives way to day,
cool air sobers the waking dead.
They all stumble down and away,
and off to the safety of bed.