Keys to the Kingdom

The effects of Key West on your Soul

The Keys to the Kingdom

 

The bridges bowed backs,

key to key,

like the slipped disks of a broke back mule,

chained together by the forces of time

but bent by the human packing,

ironic but there is a guy on Boca Chica key who can fix that,

he lives there with his three dogs

a licensed hippie chiropractor on a permanent vacation

bright eyed in the morning

no bong hits yet today, articulate but not well bathed.

 

The blue off the water

When struck by the sun,

Looks like terra firma,

It stretches out to the length of your vision.

A silver carpet that gets broader as it moves to the edge or the earth

But back here on the key are,

palm trees,

Scrubs and many motels that look like,

Huts without new paint

All slightly off the road,

Just far enough off the beaten path,

Places where people want to lay,

Just between the water and the road

The blacktop reminds them of the world,

Back there,

It moves fast,

Here only the breeze blows quickly.

And the road ends 120 miles down

No turning back unless your ready to swim

Maybe sail to the Dry Tortugas.

 

The mind settles and you walk the beach,

The sun burns constant,

Nothing much changes,

Yet people yearn to feel new here,

Come from around the world,

Do they ever, really change in the Keys

Wherever go, there you are.

 

Yet walking by the Parrot of Jimmy Buffets

The inside looks the same,

But the smile is greater

The façade is less trimmed,

Much like the scrub brush

And giant Mimosa’s twists

Turns in all of us,

Small birds have built nests there,

Bright yellow beaked reminders

That the world is bigger than us and emotions can fly away,

Catch the warm breeze of the Keys and float to the ocean

Who takes it all in,

CO2 and negative energy is what Key water consumes

Mother Nature’s gift of giving us back our breath,

You know the one that is shallow and short in the world before Key Largo,

Where day to day is piled up and piled up till we again

March the Route 1 mule, end to end, disk to disk,

Letting the sun in and the pain out

Aspiration for the soul a real human photosynthesis,

We take in, bask in the sun

The negative ions of the crashing waves

Coupled with the good natured feel

Of toes in the sand,

Giggles and smiles,

Acoustic guitar,

And the unique characters that live here,

All work in concert to release the CO2 of our souls,

Supplants the toxic us into the Mimosa

The sea water and the lungs of the seagulls,

As they fly over and down, waiting on the days catch,

Charter food for the lazy hunter.

 

We’re all lazy hunters here,

Things come to you in the Keys

Seem to just drop in front of you and say hello

Like the man who rides his bike from Key-West to Largo

He has an organized train added to the back of his Schwinn

Compass, lobster sticker, spear, surf board and bait boxes

Arranged in a logical manner that confuses the average onlooker

All they see is the Mohawk, war paint under his eye

But is he really smarter than we

His life more organized to priorities of what matters

No mortgage, no master, only him and the Schwinn

Only the catch of the day and to breathe, how easy is that,

Compared to the hunt we make every day of our fellows,

Of ourselves, do we not cannibalize ourselves in our jobs

Our commutes, our rituals and charters.

Ricky on the Schwinn may be more organized than we know.

 

Thomas sits at the local bar, his black velvet top hat

He has his little babies, his two dirty white Lopsa Opsa’s

Sunglass wearing dogs,

Kercheif’s around their necks and happiness to just but where Thomas is.

His ski goggles hide his eyes,

his kerchief hides all but his lips,

which utter only kind words, no pretense with him,

Slight but with effeminate qualities, happy to compliment the women and men with equal justice,

Keys justice is what he speaks.

He tells us stories of his little babies,

how much they love him, how much they love everyone.

He pulls on his Vape and I smell the sweet aroma of ganja, good green herb,

His phone beeps and he calls his babies to follow him to his scooter. 

They board the flat of the scooter and sit without word,

even in Key-West, Pavlov has his effect,

Thomas gets on the scooter and waves goodbye,

He has a deliver to make.  I ask the girl behind the bar

Is he part of the drag show, she isn’t sure

But knows he makes lots of deliveries,

Two years in the Keys from South Carolina

She still doesn’t understand.

 

The Keys are the brave lands

Freaks and overpaid geeks who wish to be free

To be geeks that can freak

The sides of the Keys are as easily seen as the bad side of any track

The tourist side knows not of the dirty and dank underbelly

That like the labyrinths of Manhattan

That move in their midst, too many conch shells

And Key-West t-shirts keep their gaze while key west hustles

Like Hollywood and Vine but on Duval and Roosevelt.

The Keys whisper,

“anything you want to find, it’s here if you know where to look.”

 

Out on the water the boats run in all directions,

People 300 ft in the air behind colored parachutes

Taking in the breadth of the Keys, seeing the trawlers,

Brawny and tan men too small to see way down there but

You’ll taste their sweat in the oysters and lobster you eat tonight,

They won’t let you move about their lands without notice of them.

 

While on our jets ski’s there are dark grumblings coming out of the

Poorly painted motels and they pastel colored Hotels,

People cleaning our rooms,

washing our towels, picking up our dirty clothes

They walk back to their small idiosycronized world,

the Keys have that effect

Constantly oppressive yet beautiful,

moments knee deep in the s**t of life,

Next outside and the Key breeze cleanses you on the walk home,

their all smiling before they get home.

 

Charles has the shakes,

he walks the South beach on his way to the liquor store,

People on bikes with looks of disdain,

Rented mustang convertibles pass and make no mind,

“they Keys aren’t as accepting as I thought”, he says,

Philadelphia seems warmer in winter to him, than the Keys in January.

The largest of Mimosa’s can’t take his souls CO2,

It hides behind guilt, shame, self-pity and indignation,

The four horsemen that block all release,

Stalwarts to the gates of the Keys healing clinic,

Episodic protectors that push down the pain.

 

The key life is one unto itself

The southernmost point in the US

Yet right across the street from the bereft of humanity

No matter where you come from and what your pain, how old the scar,

The Keys try to ease your pain

but as I said in the lines before

Wherever you go, there you are

And the fix is temporary,

So to the Keys you will come again.