Saturday, July 17, 2010

American Blues No. 7

One note cracks the pavement and distorts,
grossly distends the meaning of soul
and what it takes to make beautiful noise.
Buzzing in my ear, throbbing in my hands,
burning on my lips; the conviction to kill dogs
when they are foaming at the mouth in a dark barn,
like college students on bail in the Ivy league,
with rubber balls stuffed in their mouths
and blindfolds soldered in place.

I've read their signs and heard their prayers and protests:
burn whiskey, shoot kerosene,
blow smoke off the steaming double-barrelled six-string
and it makes a sound like bells,
like broken bells and howls and wind in trees
that grow between cracks in the lanes on deserted streets
all day, all day, all day, all day, all day.

God, who knew this was what they meant
when they said bend, contract, release, orgasm!
play the fucking blues?

1 comment:

  1. Wow....your American Blues series is coming along quite nicely, to put it mildly.

    And it's interesting. At first, I didn't see any connection between them, aside from a certain tone. But, after reading over them a couple times, I'm beginning to see how the animal and natural imagery ties into the theme you're communicating and it's quite frankly stunning. Keep up the good work mate.