I.
There was something in the wood-grain
that had twisted air out of the sky
and pushed it higher into the night.
Her voices gives off the dancing spin
of feathers tossed with a joker’s grin.
I could tell you of her fingers on guitar strings
and how she looked more threadbare when
the light caught the left side of her face.
She said she had slept
with those clothes
on.
I could not tell.
II.
She said
“I feel
a phony.
A stake
a snake
a rock
a rake.”
Well, people have the right to avoid mistakes.
III.
Oh false gods
save me from your prophecies.
Bathe me in wine.
She said the devil’s daughters
all have curly hair.
She said that it was humid in hell
and it was fucking up her curls.
She looked like she deserved
to be immortalized in marble.
IV.
Oh, I hear her guitar from the other room
and it sounds like fucking impending doom.
I need a harmonica or
folk singing chops.
Bury me far from the docks
and I will tell you the truth about love.
So, she’s prettier than anyone I’ve ever known
although I’ve been (rightfully) accused
of reevaluating this judgment whenever
it suits my purposes (frequently).
I don’t mind that I write her poems
that she doesn’t read.
I don’t mind the way that I shrink away from her
like a dead man.
Oh I’m trying,
but so goddamn slowly.
I don’t know how to act around people
but I know that at some point
I’d done something quite unacceptable,
although hopefully not something that’d get a person fired.
V.
I place cans of food onto a shelf
and try not to embarrass myself.
I wear a bluebird over my heart every day
and it flies away in my own hurricane.
No comments:
Post a Comment