Ricky Man (on Youtube)

Ricky Man

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

I knew him when the Earth was flat.

I knew him when the moon was holy.

...when Coca Cola was cheap;

when he sat slumped,

face down, drunk,

cooking his brain in some second hand philosophy book,

college of life burning late on his alchemical tank,

and adding fuel in small white powder sniffs.

-Breaking into one of his familiar tiffs with the tiny bar lady,

the one he swears he fucked.

..but I knew he was as gay as a seven rand note.

And he smiled at me with his knowing eyes,

the only times I swear he saw the world soberly.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

Ricky Man smoked a pipe.

A glass pipe.

Called it his caterpillar stick.

And he told stories like a magician.

His teeth clinking on glass,

like a groom calling his audience to class,

and we small children sat at his feet,

in a long forgotten street,

and listened to spinning stories:

of long ago alleyways, brothels,

and that one cop that owed him one.

He curled over the edge of his table,

and drummed the story into the wood,

with the ball of his palm,

stuttering through the haze of drink,

and the jagged segues of coca daze,

his haphazard bedtime mazelike stories,

that twisted around you,

like carousels of living horses.

We didn’t believe a word he’d say,

but it was all about the way he'd said it.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

His foot sticking out this way,

fingers pointing accusingly at every audience member:

till one by one we were shot down,

one drunk,

one coked up,

one just tired from a long day.

Us, just as hazy as he was,

boiled out by the familiar heat of a small town sun.

And he’d finally fizz out and pass out,

kicked out for sleeping,

or puking on himself,

he just needed to get up.

He just needed to find his feet.

One last person to greet.

...and as he crossed the street.

...well.

He didn’t see the car coming.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

I knew Ricky Man with his soda ash coat.

I knew Ricky Man with his blood libation to mother night.

I knew Ricky Man before we spoke of him in backwards facing sentences.

I knew Ricky Man.

I knew Ricky Man back when.

-o0o-