Chicano Poet

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

still from 1918 silent film(wood s lot)
Great Balls Of Fire

Jerry Lee Lewis crawls down a hill
chasing two little girls,
his suit grass-stained, the Chinese quizzical.

The buildings on the hill bunch up.
In their whiteness and blackness,
they resemble a dog’s dream.

The dark gray sky catches fire,
clouds rolling on the ground---
any sea too far away and nameless.

The roundness of a momentary god
flashes in Jerry’s head
but withers into glee.

The little girls think they’re home free, “We’re home fu-ee!”
Jerry thinks he’s home free, “I’m home free!”
But flames engulf all three.


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