onetwothree
(A Blues Poem)


I

count onetwothree and pluck another petal
count onetwothree and pluck another petal
count onetwothree and give the petals to the wind, let the naked flower settle

And if I were that naked flower I’d let the current carry me to his bed
If I were as naked as that flower I’d let the current carry me straight to his bed
But my clothes lay heavy, loveless and dead

So I go to the doctor and he gives me some sweet juice squeezed straight from the underbelly of the sun,
juice so golden it must’ve been squeezed straight from the underbelly of the sun
And with that juice the doctor can cure the loneliness of one

I

count onetwothree and take another sip
count onetwothree and take another sip
count onetwothree and erase how my man used to kiss my eyes, kiss my lips

And if he kissed me now I’d forget how in the race to being right he beat me
If he kissed my lips right now I’d forget how in the race to being right he beat me
In those cavernous kisses I’d forget how he beat me

So I guess I’ll find some other lover who doesn’t mind my sorry singing or my slightly rumpled hair
someone who wants to hear the sad sorry song that I’ve been singing, who wants to smooth my rumpled hair
A man who will listen or at least is still drunk enough not to care







Wrote this one about 2 years ago now, but seems oddly applicable to how I feel at the moment. Yeah, man, I got the blues.