Monday, September 17, 2007

no. 3, from songs for women who would be wayward

tonight


blues fisted, old steel guitar, so he stomps his feet
and calls, hello honey, buckle up cause you will be my baby
tonight

he makes a wicked laugh, strumming, humming
and southern caterwauling gives him thirsty plans
tonight

but he likes his hair red, watches girls grow older
shake their skirts, tip toe by him slowly, and give him
scents

gin is for the spirituals, whiskey for the funerals
churchy hymns go best with black rum, coca-cola
sweet

and he knows that life ain't straight, like lines up on
the wall, takes his opportunities deep with a shuffle
1,2,3,4

ladies from the city, husky voice and full of secrets
like his feet brown, with country sun, honey raw but
smooth

no, he takes life twisty, peppery with magicks
rides your window like a cowboy, sly where you make
shadows

any one can count the days, and he knows that there
is no moral to this tale, no leaky rainbow, melting on the
blacktop

he smiles, rich with his lazy tongue, crafty gambler
gives you dice to make a play, spin 'em, roll 'em
tonight

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