The February Glow

up beyond the thick green water,

where no man meets a farmer's daughter,

a tattooed wily mistress washed her dress

from Saginaw, she made a drink

with blackened blood from her kitchen sink

and drank it down with gaul and cigarettes

i slept upon her Ferndale floor,

a husky barking at her door;

my dreams were crystalline, growing larger

i only got one goodbye kiss,

recklessness of tongue and twist—

my vertebrae and nerves were growing harder—

stiff and frozen like the river water

and i had

a drink with every laugh;

a needle in my back

a spike from  railroad tracks—

but who knows

where her hipbones go?

the February glow

mixed within the chalky snow

Oh no…

Seventy-Five, it makes a dream

comparable to wine and sleep—

through Hazel Park and Royal Oak, i'm tainted

the way the sun rose in the north

as i walked off her concrete porch

my throat was so damn dry i almost fainted

when i was done, she bought me more—

a nicotine and liquor snore

my stomach and my heart felt something vile

no one could have guessed they'd see

me and her at night; it seems

that black and white and gray are in denial—

gagging themselves running down 9 Mile

and i had

a drink with every laugh;

a needle in my back

a spike from  railroad tracks—

but who knows

where her hipbones go?

the February glow

mixed within the chalky snow

Oh no…

a telephone that never rings;

a country song she never sings;

something tells me i will never know

we fell asleep, the TV screen

was louder than the wintergreen—

none of us knew why we had no snow;

even more we didn't know why i couldn't go

and i had

a drink with every laugh;

a needle in my back

a spike from  railroad tracks—

but who knows

where her hipbones go?

the February glow

mixed within the chalky snow

Oh no…