Cul-de-sac Jones

~from 2016
 
 
 
There was a
 brain in my nose
 & a jack in my step.
 
 A Black Stranger
 Bird-catcher.
 
 Slaving to the grind
 of mastering the mind.
 
 Our wicked dream,
 my snake in your church.
 
 & as sure as bones,
 you flowered-off.
 
 A bridge of green
 on stones-to-worms.
 
 When They make me pull
 I push Them down.
 
 When my blood sings
 to the wailing vine.
 
 Bites cold lips
 with seraphim teeth.
 
 Then breathing the sky
 with honeysuckle blaze.
 
 
 
 A little faith in me,
 blade...spade.
 
 There'll be a rose
 from my nose.
 
 & a rise in
 my breath
 
 yet.
 
 
 
 Black Stranger
 Bird-watcher.
 
 A slave to the mind  
 can master the grind.