untitled, for a title I wouldn’t steal

for r. m.

it’s the end of their story
a fairytale, or a world occupied with
premonitions
if you want a name
Warhol, Ginsberg or Jones
if you want a shelter
the rugged room where
she drank (the electric lady)
here comes
a beautiful young man
gracious as always
he hustles, he smiles
a petal of skyless blue

and from their sparring
sprawled a new routine
if there’s ever a playwright
wrenched be the echo
if you want a soul
rattle, dance and dance
he dangles, he rides
his sheepskin vest, his mantra
and in black he harbors
gray and white