Listening to the Stones

Hearing things now

I jus’ ain’t  never heard before;

Hearing so clearly a groove from

A different engine room –

A little to the right of the melody, a

Moonshine young-hat guy with

A tote sack full o’

Sun-warm laburnum honey,

Midnight bone soup ‘n’

Lou’siana-swamp soul

Is blowin’ horn so cat -cool ‘n’

Chain maker heavy that it

Must be jerkin the fallen angel’s strings.

How did I never hear it before:

This rollin’ sugar-brown smoothness?

The tune that’s bringin’ it all

Back home to me now:

Across the missin’ years.


Away From Suitcase Words

Taking my dilemma-seat on the red-eye express –
Please let it be a save-soul flight
Hoping to be carried away from
Cheap hotel rooms and suitcase words
Towards a different kind of trigger light.

Brown sugar call, insistent demand,
Throbbing troll-drum loud
In my outlaw head.

Need the savage high-born,
Black panther lady in my bed.
If more-than-yellow survival
And deep desert-gold redemption
Are the witch’s corkscrew goals
Conquest, consummation and satisfaction
Are fantasy’s waypoints and evolution’s tolls.