The Duke walks on water
downing a triple rum n’ coke.
He falls from tables,
dancing, with a tip of his hat.
He falls…
into the arms of many girls.
They wait
oh so eager to catch.
He doesn’t spill a drop.
. . .
He plays the field
and the field plays him.
It’s not a real-game.
He flirts with many,
toys with the chosen few,
taking home just one or two.
. . .
The Duke abides by his own rules
in politics, music and science.
The Duke has no time for dogma;
sees through the lies and facts.
The Duke eyes another place
of realities between the layers;
time, space
and
our place in the stars.
. . .
The Duke faced Death.
Death ran away.
. . .
The Duke plays guitar,
better than the bands he sees.
. . .
The Duke goes on,
unstoppable,
leaving me in the dust,
free-willed, free-thinking
freestyling.
. . .
Long live the Duke.
. . .
THE END