Sunday, November 30, 2008

From The Blessings of True Fables


Outside the Palace of Fine Arts
the brassy bedouin gifted
this uneasy teen
her guitar.
And as
he slipped beneath
the sassy spell of
crazed voodoo spirits,
wicked fingers blazed
electric on its strings,
and wailed alongside the waif's bluesy
this-is-the-last-song-I-will-ever-sing voice.
A mic in one hand and swigs of
Southern Comfort from her other,
she would dub him "Raoul",
an unsung
discovery,
sober no longer
in the drunken
merriment
of the spring moment
that would never
leave him.

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