Tuesday, February 23, 2010

alligator souffle

beat rhymed stanzas belted forward,
a vocal punch to tepid air,
read quickly, staggered-like, from a dog eared notebook,
an uneasy shuffle of the feet,
a Bic pen behind the ear,
read to an audience,
a quiet crowd of traffic lights,
sewer grates, oily puddles,
and an old drunk's midnight chuckle,
the poet stops, bends,
edits with a leaky pen,
a whistle wetted by a tear off a flask of 5 dollar whiskey,
stands up, begins again,
this time,
with a brand new line.


Anonymous said...

French keeps a notebook like this one; as do I. Equally stained with tears and coffee rings.


Square Corner said...

Good one. Mona Lisa mural looks over a curved street and a poem that goes straight to the heart.
Another nice post, Dox.

Anonymous said...

Magical. I actually just walked past Dancing Days in Kensington last week. What a mind-cluck. Great writing Adnanther.