Bastard of Icarus (and a tour of The Red Cup)

I wrote this poem while listening to a friend perform at a coffee shop in Oklahoma City called The Red Cup. It’s a great little hippy place. I can’t manage to locate my own photos of it, but the good folks over at Flickr have a few. The the photos are courtesy of UberJ, Billie Hara, Okie Dan, and BlueAthena7. So without further ado, a tour of one of my favorite places back home, through the eyes of some strangers who also like it enough to put photos of it up on the internet.

Red Cup Coffee House

Red Cup

Red Cup

Red Cup

Red Cup Counter

Red Cup

Andy Adams & Justin Witte at Red Cup

Red Cup and Wurdz

A main with hair blue to match his eyes
and illustrated arms
flies into a hurricane

where a cellist soars on upper level winds
his sweet sex jazz
diverging above the eye

and dark chocolate skinned Bailey’s (with a temper to match)
sings the song
that was my father’s.

and I, a bastard of Icarus
stretch honey-gold wings
against gale force winds

my stylus unable to record effectively
the rise and fall
of augmented fourth air parcels

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Bastard of Icarus (and a tour of The Red Cup)

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