Hooker’n’Heat at the Toady Prom
Feeling has gone memory stays on
Rampant maple leaves appear
like marigolds in moonscapes
rising through the morning mist
when i pull the cerise drapes
and play the damn fool blues
drinking in the morning news
Breath:
Two fingers below omphalos
like the past a foreign country
in myrtle overgrown persists
Served my time in solitary
let that boy boogie woogie
Resent, trust’s wounded beast, lives deep, a profound
scar rifts its nook. Odd weather rouses it:
mood clouds,
orangeade, golden maned breeze, late day sun
knowing in corn grove by stile, John Lee Hooker,
and screams
outside the sky blue window last Friday.
Hurt’s old pals, bacillus and succubus,
they thrive on bad blood, consecrate murder,
and relish the thrill of momentary gore.
Quick, the black and white machete swoops,
You see silhouetted antennae;
open, indigo renaissance skies,
crowds flood through crooked pervious walls,
or melt away down through cleft gloss cobbles.
Grimbeau 