Sycophant Blues In Seattle
Slowly dripping down the steamy panes
To the warm floor, where the gasps
And the moist rest into numbness,
On a rainy nameless afternoon.
The sax fawning over the thin ankles
As they daintily savor the dark.
And the piano chords tickling
The brazen cheeks of drowsiness.
And then you pull out from the touch
For a smoke that fills the room with attire
All words are silent and all trees are free,
Unwonted by any cunning tongue or alphabet of God
And I keep looking this story in its fiery eyes
Waiting for its breath to ground and humble me.
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