Uneasy Detente

Uneasy detente on the streets I would haunt when my hair was close-cropped but my legs were still long. Back in those days I was too much to trust and too distant and fleeting to be marked by love because cupid’s bowstring is a child’s plaything and even the voices of birds only sing gibberish and nonsense that means less than me, I who once fought for incoherency, who thought nothing of double-fisting forties or alternating vomiting with moments of sleep. I was sure when I moved with little to lose – I was happy to croak my suburban blues over clumsy barre chords that slowly moved towards the sense of authentic that subtly rewards such persistent practice it’s almost like magic – become so attuned that I simply ‘have’ it – the perfect pull-off then the right kind of gravel to grind in my throat like a blender of notes that emerge wholly sweet as they fall first then float onto beds of each other, all smooth and unstubborn.

~ by perfectionatrix on April 22, 2010.

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