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vagabond's harmony



if ever a lady stepped out of a poem into the cool
shadows of a perilous night, it was Harmony.
she was every joker’s hard luck & final temptation;
she was incense & cream sherry in a careless dress,
vague as tomorrow's headlines.

& she was a thief. she stole my integrity like it was
the last apple on the tree of good & evil the minute
she vamped into my pulp novel. I bought the whole
torrid package, too. me, with a pocket full of pawn
shop tickets & a sleeper on the next train to nowhere.
& I paid for it with the only thing that really mattered.

a man can never truly own a doll like her, but she
would own him till he was used up & laid out for
the jackals. there were two ways to say goodbye to
Harmony: a bullet in the belly or a knife in the back.

the eastside streets we murdered our nights on were
patrolled by whores & outlaws. the clubs we holed up in
were confessionals of expensive liquor & sad songs. we
stayed drunk & high; it was her only notion of happiness.

in the end, she was off with other men. I lost her; sure,
it was in the cards. but there was one good thing about
her – she broke my heart so no one else ever could.

so now I’m on the corner waiting for a cab to the furthest
dying star. but the cabs are running slow tonight.
& then it starts to rain…



Written by JohnFeddeler
Published
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