Durham, etc. Blues [pt. 5] (the misunderstanding of James Joyce and alcoholic academia)
5
Had someone ask me what
exactly the durham blues were.
I tell em, Mexico City,
Durham ain’t, and I can’t
bebop like Jack.
The durham blues are like
languid tremors captured in a typewriter
there’s a hellhound in my ink.
We’re a Main St. chorale
in the mouth not of a watering
hole but an oasis
The durham blues personify
the warring anxiety & elation
of academic bottle rockets
fumbling around for lights to their fuses
I wear my trendy shades to the pub
with Ulysses plastered on the wall
& sweaters brushing together in a mass
