— the morning light’s a sharp note
sawing your staticky head in half
as if Jimmy’d strung his Strat
with catgut, cat still attached,
howling like a Nawlins hurricane
blasting the fluff from preening birds,
their bones filled with air and chirps.
Your bones feel loose, your marrow
a maraca, but they aren’t song-hollow
drums – too heavy – more like long
anvils where little devils forge sin
of the most joyabolical kind.
If Lucifer used to be an angel
then a devil’s heart must beat
below every feathery breast
or at least that’s what Jane said
right before she told you, “Girl,
don’t take no wooden horses,”
as the glittery Stoli fairy dragged
her into her own sinfonía privado.
Thoughts heavy as canary dust,
dancing light as dirty hobnail boots,
Goody Twoshots saves the evening;
she always bra-stashes sweaty
bills for truckstop waffles & the sweet
black hotblood of owl-life, mas Java
por favor, la jeva no quiero queso!
Sad that the delicious roasty ocean
can never Mozart away the Gwar
gigging your body at sunrise —