hot-buttered-soul

 

 

 

Were I not the better transcriptionist

of doom. The believer that across the tracks

was a hill, tranquil and unwavering.

And it is overwhelming, that here

in the strangled triad; the third

and fifth horizon is more

Stone-Henge than inclusive.

 

i had loved you in my cross-eye world.

Were I c**k-eyed and you the leader

of the universe. And it was somewhere

around Aretha's "Chain of Fools"

I was told.

 

No texting then. Just face to face

blubbering-final hug-Shakti-

cosmic energy-dear john bullshit.

So what. Catching you, a glimpse

at the movies:

 

"Shaft" being seventeenth century

throwing gangsters out of five story windows,

having sex in the shadowgraph of mythological

movements. Getting even with the man,

was so cool,

 

we wore our leather coats open at the top,

shook our words up like the narritive

of Shakespearean sonnets. Got our

afro's right as the wind. Yet you sat

with

 

someone else there. And I was no more

shagginess, hoping, just dark and broken.

Breathing my sorrow out loud

as if saliva and phantom light,

was a 70's farewell.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

"Hot Buttered Soul" was one of my favorite album covers back in the day. This is no period nostalgia piece, though. Nor is it simply a wistful snapshot, or a Aesop of the 70s. It is a sum of these parts, but the weaving and stitching of it makes it greater than that, indeed. Suffice it to say I wish I would have or could have written this.

[Corset]

oh my gawd...now i'm going to hear that sing song "shaft" like the accusation of wearing stripes with prints for the next 48 hours, and to think my friday nights are spent looking for a phone number that I know damn well was probably disconnected eons ago, for fear of being seen in public with the one you love creating such a faux pas as that double dipping the marinara.