Angry Blues

Like a wounded hound dog
baying at a bayou moon,
I howl my angry blues
to the corner streetlamp.

Hurl a jagged stone
against its yellow light,
like a curse grown hard
& spit into the dawn.

Belly soured with beer
I dance in firewater visions,
choking on invectives
forced from clouded lungs.

Knees against the concrete
I remember not to beg,
clutching petty vows
prayed in secret.

Something in me feels
like fishhooks tearing flesh,
like fingernails removed
with cruel pliers.

A hunchbacked silhouette
I inhale the gutter's stench,
embrace the numbing dark
that closes in, closes in.



Sophie

Tonight she wears the mask
of an aging nun:
thin lips pursed in disapproval,
chafed & tightly sealed,
like the withered gift
secured between her thighs.

Spinster eyes that long to close
upon a lover's goodnight gaze,
to bear his gentle image
like a luminous charm
against the creeping dark.

But time had plied
her farmgirl features
with harsh & graceless hands,
scarred & stretched
her virgin flesh
beyone affection.

Now she pays the penalty
for refusing once too often,
& with gnarled yellow fingers
she explores her secret parts.

Spread eagle on here single bed
her moans escape
through cracked teeth,
lamentations for a lover
never known,
never lost.



Paul's Song

There were some tender moments:
the leather taste of her boot,
the curled edges
of her grim nun's smile.

Her cruelty was my passion,
a thorned branch
held out to a drowning man.

And when the flesh peeled
from my palms
I knew the pain would pass,
ragged nerve ends harden
adding strength for future wars.

But some things cut more deeply:
a spiked heel against
a pale forehead,
a blue vein burst
like a rusted pipe.

So I filled my lungs
with sweet air &
pretended to go under,
when she bent to count
the bubbles
I grabbed hold
& pulled her in.