Monday, 22 September 2014

HOLY DAYS, UNHOLY NIGHTS

(original poem & song)

She had just finished her coffee

she had just finished super-gluing 

the iron-on patches to 

her black jeans


Shamelessly

when the BBC 

reported her city 

the night before


The scandalous 

yet predictable situations

played out on the streets when

certain dice were cast 


Rolled and bounced into

a combination of numbers

when added 

together spelled trouble


She could coherently 

put herself together for you 

on a gray cloud 

with a silver-stained lining 





Halloween behind the ears 

like a cool whip of 

winter winds on 

the nape of your neck


When someone in any given room

in any given west-side victorian 

half-rehabbed three story apartment 

had mind to meet 


The fullness of her face

the fullness of her hot stare

the depth of her purpose 

you can believe 


Just like you buy 

the street talk on the east side

in a slurpee swishersweet rhetoric

ghetto to the bone


Descended from

the self-made madness

of your home