Unanswered Prayers
You didn’t seem to mind the unanswered prayers
of your bebop aloneless. I brought you liquor and smokes,
a dwelling place of vinyl: Clifford Brown, Art Blakey
and the Bird! Your eyes drifted to carefully coiffed girls
in the pew and their angularity of vision. I held you blameless,
but don’t think that I will ever forget. You held your mirror
aloft to capture the vow and the blood between us; you
bedecked yourself in a fancy Sunday hat. I felt smothered
by the smoke that engulfs you, but you slapped my hand
every time I attempted to douse your flame. It was a last
minute decision that seemed to sum up our testimony.
I never told you I was the answer to all of your prayers.
~
Soft Baritone, Conked Hair of Perfection
You are pork pie hats and mohair trousers made
by Sy Devore. A bebop ghost, a swing low sweet chariot.
You speak in well-enunciated sentences, you linger on the
tongue. You are a billboard on Sunset Boulevard; I am
a debonair embodiment. The drape of this music is
razor-sharp, it kicks like alligators! I fall asleep with you
in Paris; I gain consciousness in ole New Orleans. I am your
greatest hit, though you switched up the lyrics: no worries!
Your music’s still in my mouth, though I don’t sing like that,
anymore. Oh man, just wear me down to the staticky hum!
You understand me. You fly me to the moon.
~
Fetch Me My Armor
Glamorous armor, worn by Billie and Ella!
Redeemed from a pawnshop in Harlem, now it’s
time to rescue all abandoned dreams. Ermine and
pearls, O muse of rhinestones and leopard skin!
O stinging autonomy and stocking runs and
dark boulevards of grief.
Berries are still on the vine
our bathtubs are still full of gin! There’s still
time to be his Fire & Ice; it’s not too late for
Cherries in the Snow. Amidst the inhaled
smoke of Smalls’ Paradise on 7th Avenue,
I pause to wrestle all demons.
And how did you end up
in my arms?
~
Cacti Fur 