Emjambin' the Blues

Crossroads dusty swirled
with cloudy scud given to stars,
to downlow shriek, a caw to corn
and weevil’s boll. The jackdaw drops,
a feather skids along a scarecrow’s smile
and slithers to its lover wind
past hayricks, past the sin
of planting neatened rows,
that sacrifice to golden bough.
Abjure the day, abjure the press
and pleat of Sun, come instead
to water’s edge.

Be my midnight, be my moonlight,
be my swamp, my cottonmouth.
Slide the histories in mud,
the bending back, the broken wing,
sweated skin and covered scream
manacled to swollen seas adrift
from home the frantic sweet
thighs split to birth a minor chord
of untold memories in song.

Don’t the moon look lonesome
shinin’ through the trees?