09-26-2013, 07:38 AM
BYWAY FROM MEMPHIS
Flat noise and light
cast, down that black pavement
tacked on dusty cotton
paths, plains of the Delta.
Seven weeks south of Beale
street, the sounds of the dissonant hush and
rumble of Annabelle’s lace dabbing
dried salty droplets of labor
love, soaked crimson by pricked fingers.
I came upon Miss Mary’s boarding
house, for wandering souls can
use some grits and pecan pie
in their knapsack, water pitcher
ice cubes and lemon on a silver tray.
Flecks of traveler’s dust floated past
the auburn cast window, we two
timeless and restless, fanned and
dabbed, imprudently stripped down.
It was too hot for radio.
Mirages wisped and waved
across the parlor, door ajar
the handyman-boy fixed the drip-
drop faucet that tantalized the
hours, silenced with a firm touch.
You got a smoke? caught his key
in the ignition, from my sticky sofa
bondage I fled, bounded down
the chipped eggshell steps.
A well traveled way by which
that Chevy raced, created our own
summer breeze, I’ll raise you
one, little darlin’…
Smokes and beer lingered on
his lips, I too found comfort there, lying
among the serpents on their bellies falling
into the marshy ground, clearest
starlight nets weaved into new constellations.
Plastic Madonna melted on her pedestal
at the end of Miss Mary’s hallway, the bright
Messiah eyes cried black oily tears.
It was almost too hot to fuck.
That second night she retreated
to the porch, her longing-song played
a man under the lone streetlight of desire
across the highway.
Flat noise and light
cast, down that black pavement
tacked on dusty cotton
paths, plains of the Delta.
Seven weeks south of Beale
street, the sounds of the dissonant hush and
rumble of Annabelle’s lace dabbing
dried salty droplets of labor
love, soaked crimson by pricked fingers.
I came upon Miss Mary’s boarding
house, for wandering souls can
use some grits and pecan pie
in their knapsack, water pitcher
ice cubes and lemon on a silver tray.
Flecks of traveler’s dust floated past
the auburn cast window, we two
timeless and restless, fanned and
dabbed, imprudently stripped down.
It was too hot for radio.
Mirages wisped and waved
across the parlor, door ajar
the handyman-boy fixed the drip-
drop faucet that tantalized the
hours, silenced with a firm touch.
You got a smoke? caught his key
in the ignition, from my sticky sofa
bondage I fled, bounded down
the chipped eggshell steps.
A well traveled way by which
that Chevy raced, created our own
summer breeze, I’ll raise you
one, little darlin’…
Smokes and beer lingered on
his lips, I too found comfort there, lying
among the serpents on their bellies falling
into the marshy ground, clearest
starlight nets weaved into new constellations.
Plastic Madonna melted on her pedestal
at the end of Miss Mary’s hallway, the bright
Messiah eyes cried black oily tears.
It was almost too hot to fuck.
That second night she retreated
to the porch, her longing-song played
a man under the lone streetlight of desire
across the highway.
That was a fun read, thanks for posting.
