Native Attraction

We entered the midway, /her hand slipped into mine./She smells faintly of Kools and Maybelline/as such, a radio in a ditched jalopy brays Armstrong,/it plays for a fee,/it glows in the mud,/ with so much heat/my memory betrays me./The crowd exults in demands/to desperately quit the cradle/their brows brim with sweat/ from poor mans’ dreams, /water to wine in oceans/She eats a box of rice with her fingers/she needs to see me/ in a mock church next Tuesday/to blister and star my crown/but at this event now/ I pay out a paltry sums / to enact lies over and over

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s