Monday, June 25, 2007


susie sang off in a key of pink, she
woulda been sugary, some where that
susies have been cherished, but
all women, used to be little, used to be

read hegel under neath its blue
no, gray no, ashy no, washed away sun
read j.collins under neath mrs. jones'
favorite lamp, sipping in her delicate way
gordons gin

gathered billy's hisses, no hurrahs
waited for his kisses, no danger there
cause susie knows a special place
where red is only warm, never mixed
with any thing

and walks out over the general's sandy
road, thinking of the glory days, peaches
boysenberries, dribbles of cold cinammon
and skips a few on the old man's pond
remembering picnics and mothers,
remembering rosaries too worn by

she walked a woman's walk, full up
green and spring and soft blowsy days
just shadowed, tinkling little bells
roused by wind, by sammy's breath
warm and hot and rawsome, when she
was pretty

silver or gold, or copper, brassy coins
were her eyes, may be she had fevers
may be she had morning sweat that ran
in circles neath her arms, upon her legs
so white, too pale, locked away from

daisies are a simple yellow, shaky on
the neighbor's fields, laughing savage
flowers, ringed and wholly centered
while she's reading sherlock and dreaming
in her way

oh susie, making eyes on my amber
whiskey, showing me a frown while i
harmonize, snap my doo-wop fingers
scat my pitter patter, shake my foot
and she knows i've got to one two three

i have a scent that slow shimmers, slow
bruises, purple or mauve or blackly blue
but she knows i've got to run my certain way
some times all the night, some times
in her bed, so she is this minor rhapsody
and i am all the colors


Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

Site Meter