Dreamstreet Man Revisited Poem by Dandelion de la Rue

Porch swing life in
some other place
moon humming happy
bugs playing fiddles
pies cooling
by the window

Down the road awhile
in smokey midnight bars
torchy songs low and thick
red lipstick eyes closed
songs for someone gone
a long long time

Outside slow motion
wakes the blood
sends foggy feet
to the magic house
yellow glow windows
Strong souls there,
souls so big
they never die.

Dreamstreet Man
drew that door
then walked through it.
You don’t know
he said
who’s the dream
and who’s the dreamer.

The air’s the same
The air’s the same.
It’s the same good
honeysuckle air.

Jackie was a middle aged or maybe older light skinned Black guy, very thin, too thin, but healthy looking. He had his paintings in Jackson Square. I worked at a French bakery near there and walked by him every day. His stuff was the generic French Quarter painting — interesting colorful buildings. lamppost, guy playing saxophone, tourist stuff. But, his added sort of a Bizarro Superworld (do you remember Bizarro Superman comics?) aura, not in a weird creepy way but in a beautiful otherworldly way.
I got to know him because he was so thin, I worried he wasn’t getting enough to eat, so I’d filch a pastry from the bakery every day when I was leaving and give it to him.
There was something magical about Jackie, I thought. I wondered sometimes if he was one of those people Carlos Castenadas talked about, allys I think, who aren’t really people. But, New Orelans had my mind trapped at the time, and magical seemed almost ordinary.

dandelion de la rue june 19, 2012 Bogota’