static.
that, and roller skates

a small voice that
runs in,
leaves a wake

the receiver
becomes a monitor
distracted by a sexy beauty mark
dancing above that lip

the one she tends to bite

I feel corners of my smirk
lift as grass to the light
syrup of Pet Sounds
with a twist of Gil Giberto

I trace small ovals
on the back of my hand
veiled to earlier weather,
storms of malcontent

I scuff an obscured itch

in wonder of
foolish electrons
and parts

love of tiny transducers
that bring her
cinematically

© Tom Watters 7/23/08

a prayer meeting
after the show
Jahweh ties off
and sings dry,
minor key,
elemental bloodless joy

squints through dusty glasses
searching for mustard seed
misplaced analogy
piquant in pheromone incongruity
like the Q in liquor

sunward they reach

water of faith

satyr-bees kick through
the plaque of pollen
always leaving sticky fingered
drunk dialing florists

he tunes the strings low
they buzz and rattle
this sonorous junkie dirge
wood speaks for the wire
speaks the tongue of the oppressed

fingertips heavy

driven by showers of leaden lust
and the rush to its charge

of blind faith
where there was once light

© Tom Watters 6/25/08

fuck the reasons
that I am
yellowed newsprint
on your tableside

you never wanted me
to be as much as
a diversionary coffee ring
around that central theme

central savior air conditioning
wall to wall carpet bag
sanctimonious lies

I polished your nails
for the grind
of his pubic
marketing plan

you polished his.
then powdered your nose
fucked me up,
while he devoured

this tragic truth

three chords
framed in cinemascope

my spirit has long lived
in this damp.
now you have become
part of his weak script

that spaghetti-western song
typical in its wail,
blank stare,
banal

this is now your
small story

© Tom Watters 6/18/08

steep and slick,
the avenue’s return
from second guess
and generosity.
asphalt hosed down
like a night time street scene
in a b-movie

in the wait
blood flowed slower,
thicker than it ought be.

as if it could predict the outcome
the painful bubble of helium
pushing up with familiarity
on the larynx

the wait

spring melt
threw off the coat
allowing tulips an inquiry
overwrought
and gilt with stilted breath

you

presented the
best of the bunch,
as a parting

to another…

another.

© Tom Watters 6/5/08