Desinence

15 Jan

———-

Waking up feeling as sore as a prison bitch, I sit behind my computer with no words floating in my weary head. I wonder the various fascinations happening in contemporary music today: D’Angelo has a demo leaked of his neo soul take on Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun”; Feist has a video online of her beating up a piñata while her band gleefully plays “November Rain”; Jay-Z is recording songs with his newborn… shit, what’s next – is Iggy Pop gonna do Grace Jones. Oh wait…

 

Here’s an oldie but a goodie (’77):

 

 

Since I’m not going to write anything new today, I feel like extricating that pressure from myself by throwing up something discarded. Enjoy it while I find out the nutrition facts on this whiskey bottle. Going Faulkner-sober for a month tomorrow to get back to form.

 

fuck

 

She was dressed for a nuanced demise or a divorce

fitted in looming elegance

Her seductive eyes were full of acrimony

and glorification for a mute god

I stuck around because I could

because I had nowhere else to be

because she was better than alone

Now she strips and ripens  

the last drop of Campari

a touch of gin

She grows like monotony

becoming my Amazonian sedative

my last cigarette in a happy family

Her hips walked to the bed like saxophone notes

as complimentary as exploitation

and I found myself unfulfilled

just as she expected

as meaningful as a prayer at an RNC convention

 

no more honey for your tea, darling

this is, after all, the desinence

you can find all the evidence you need

in her sleeping breath

———

Tags: , ,

Leave a Reply

Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings