Main Street, it ran from one end of town
straight through on route five
all the way to Schenectady
and in the other direction, to Fonda

It seemed like almost everyone on Main St.
was a refugee of some kind from somewhere
from war, economic disaster, socio-paths
who dreamt of running a country with guns...

The windows here are cleaned each night
From smudges placed on windowpanes;
They’re always found at children’s height,
No matter if it shines or rains.

Some youth with Fragile X and Downs,
Abandoned by their parents’ care;
Will sit in class and learn the sounds
Of different words they’ll come to share.

Though struggling first to say a phrase,
While teacher prompts them to begin;
Each pronounced word is met with praise,
Which make some light up with a grin.

Notes from under my apathy,
Down below the crust,
Bellows of catastrophe,
Escape and evade is a must,
The cabin of my mind reaches max capacity,
Soul corrosion aura radiates rust.

The causes of it are potent,
All encompassing degree it's hung,
This is something that steals the moment,
No apologies once your bell has been rung.

My tattooed babe is blue.
The world to him was a hullabaloo.

I try to sweep in, my sparrow blue,
But my baby withdrew

As quick as morning dew.
He's unwilling to unscrew

To open and trust.
And for me that's a must,

A concept he can't cusp,
Pick up or even make up.

My babe is blue
While he asks for twos,

Smoking his problems
Singing the blues.

My baby is blue indeed,
Playing guitar, my Lou reed.

But can’t he see?
My love for him is true,

It’s true.