When Mazie Dean Sings!

Mazie Dean at the Kitchen Pants

Tonight, Mazie Dean is playing at the Kitchen Pants.
She has that mercy, mercy, starvation voice that warbles,
bedraggled as oysters up from a nap, a delicate squeeze
on the syllables.
She is a demon and rips up a charity event like a psychoses arcade.
High flung emotions and low town implications scatter
all the way around the room, where the timber is perfect tone.
Everything is bouncing! Her breasts are popping off her chest!
She is a long history of human events.
She calls the men, big boys, she makes the women tense.
We are hoping she will sing, Smokestacks on my Bottom.
She rolls her lazy eyes all over the room.
Silver sparkles line her lips, her hair is flat and black.
Her face is soft and knowing, headed for a pout.
She has the call for alcohol speeding through the roof.
She pulls angelic dreams from her lusty, angry throat.
She moves big and hypnotic, slow circles and slouchy slings!
The crowd goes wild when Mazie Dean sings!

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

"bedraggled as oysters up from a nap" is as wonderful a turn of phrase as I've ever known to engender such professional jealousy on my end. A wonderfully drawn, extremely visual portrait.

[Ed Hart]

Thank you for that Sunday morning service. Would you please give Mazie my phone number, or me hers. I likes a lady that knows how to sing...or write good poems, for that matter...Ed