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REMEMBERING ELVIS ON HIS 60TH

here in springfield,

totemic snowmen line our streets,

  washed clean with SNOW & in the air,

pungent is the smell of oak or pine chips,

Elvis' 60th

& 300 miles south at stroke of noon,

a bouffanthaired man unveils Elvis' caped statue

dripping black mascara on rouged cheeks,

a hundred Elvises offer scented hankies,

to five hundred wet-eyed ladies,

 

ubi sunt, my love can't wait,

ubi sunt...

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REMEMBERING ELVIS #2

in Memphis home of bealestreet blues a badass

white boy faked guitar,

learned his lessons so good

Big Mama Thornton thought she heard

HERSELF moan.

Now, on this January 8 you just know that boy

ain't never gonna die.

Robert Johnson

Robert Johnson