This is another poem from my work-in-progress, forthcoming collection, Rubber Orchestras.
Blue Hues
She said
blue, like a strange heel
steps out of bed
hunting with devilish technique
like trick bag in the white broad’s hand
The river forest hid a palace
recap of the blue slash and pocket
we walked, sliver of a deep,
her confection was flame-red
like bursting inside
Exquisite, and parted her lips
cheek bones of her
beat back the black hustler
drag played the con for sure
like old crow whiskey
in the swedish bosom of her lullabye
her hairy thighs quivered
side of the bed
blue like fifteen echoes of winter
southbound to boulevards of dirty kickbacks
weeping like Bessie
Smith with her speckled head
she guaranteed a 50-50 split
There was a funk box in the rocking room
I was years well heeled
I played a tight con
in the hard eyed world of big time crooks
once, the half witch crushed blood in my rainstorm
and awfully in love
I wore a brokedick hat like a jitney driver
starving in a bargain for coins and Dutch head
with a broken shinbone
dope racket slick and mean
like some hurting thing
till the leather tong snapped
and sealed the sweet miracle
of her breath and hip
blue blowoff in the slum section
built upstairs
of gorilla pussy and champagne.
