Saturday, April 10, 2010

A Toast of Blue

A Toast of Blue

Twist off
and lick the under-
side of the cap,
mixing the metal taste
with the bleeding insincerity
inside your mouth.

Set the bottle down
and find that Skip James album
you tend to play in the dark.
Begin with his voice -
that wild, howling scream - 
and sink in the rhythm
of the guitar or piano
or his feet pounding the floor.
Sip with each lurch
of your soul.

Lift the liquid to a drop
on your tongue then read
the label four times in tune
and place it back,
clinking the table with its
glass serenade breaking you.

Your head slumps
chin to table,
you view the top
through tinted refractions,
overturned in its disgrace,
its humbled example.
To finish the drink
your eyes repair
their known motion,
aiming the tilting
of the empty
from stomach to mind,
from mind to mouth,
from mouth to glass.

And in this present
the ancient sounds slow
allowing these words,
in this place,
on this fault,
to cry myself true.

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