raindog aka rd armstrong | zoot



I thought I saw the ghost of him
floating over the boulevard
at half past ten last night.
His tenor called to me
down the long corridor of
the Harbor freeway,
distant and haunting
like the final notes from
Micheline’s Hohner
lost in the screech of
brakes at ride’s end.

I’ve got it bad.

I thought I felt a strand of
moonbeams or was it
a string of notes, gently
wrapping themselves
around my legs, sending
me tripping across
Hawthorne nights.
Sending me into
a velvet fog so
cool and wet that neither
A Train nor Strayhorn
could guide me
swinging low
back home
to your

And that ain’t good.

RD Armstrong

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