lost, #6

don't dawdle, little sweetness, we've got some steps
before we tire, losing time on 4th street, counting
down the alphabet on the eastern avenues

i'm hankered for a second-line, carrying torches
in this yankee place, can they make a jazz man funeral?
move beyond their irish wake, but let me say

memories make heavy lovers, knocking with
their fearsome clamors, shaking my old sleep time
is it too late to set some traps for wayward ghosts

why do you want me in this cluttered and
unwholesome town, noised with angry barking
maybe running backward is the key

or am i simply lost
?