0Cart
  • No products in the cart.

BLACK MAGIC, BLACK MUSE (a poem 4 Prince)

June 28, 2017

alone, on your last night alive
with your voice unamplified,
did you speak in perfect pitch
like you sang, one week prior –
57 and flawless.
fans, hanging on every word,
melodies triggering memories,
a Prince with a piano and microphone …

alone, on your last night alive
did you have the same confidence
you had when you were 19,
planting the seed
for a global funk garden:
your left eye on music,
your right eye on sex,
your third eye on Jesus.

songs pouring out of you
with the mystery of miracles,
verses written like scripture.
each drumbeat
a hypnotic hip-nod to the holy.

alone, on your last night alive
did gold fall from the sky
of your studio like rain
as it did when you were 37,
nasty and nameless,
a slave to no one but your muse,
guitar solos spilling out of you
like sorcery.
albums defying the speed of sound.

were you always aware of your witchcraft
or were you secretly scared of it?
did you know that your death
would blanket the world
in purple shadow?
did you know that we would spend
a million days just scratching the surface
of your memory?

our love, like jazz
is an electric harmony
that now digs through
your digital garden
searching for unity,
starving for melody.

in the blurry confusion of your death,
the world sharpened its focus on the 80s
when people of all colors
had purple skin.
a psychedelic blend
of red and raspberry.
when a lavender legacy of hits
made us party like it was 1999.

it was a sign of the times.

as radio changed,
your voice stayed the same.
new lotus flowers grew
from your paisley playground,
the sun, moon and stars
were at your whim,
you gave us the future of soul in 20Ten
and the rainbow children
danced again.

alone on your last night alive
with your voice unamplified,
were you still blessed and possessed
with passion
were you writing the greatest song
that we’ll never get to hear?
did you know that you’d disappear?

were you lonely?