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John Cash: A Bender Poem |
Dedicated to the white stripes (cigarettes, joints, not the band; special thanks to
Dope for the influence, not the drug: the band)
In the mirror behind my back
I can see you comin', but don't
need to, can feel it where
my gut bottoms out and you
tear. (Period, fuckit)
If you buy the straight ripple
you're warped: it's curved.
Swerve, then swivel, arms
strapped 'round my neck, hand-
cuffed for cash, treeing out of your
fuckin' mind, not tanking: no flatbacker.
Fancy Lady for real, rhinoceros skin soft
as a Welsh water goddess-maiden China.
I walk the line in 'n' out your ring of fire.
Hold your own hands; you got two.
You got to! Jiggle the links juju.
Rip it up, stir it up, mover and shaker.
Don't walk on the wild side, it's deso-
lation row. Blew the crossroads to kingdom
earlier this June when we were spoons.
HEAVE-HO, here we go! Heat, wave
bye-bye. Let's throw. Ready...set...go.
I walk the line in 'n' out your ring of fire.
June burning, preaching to the spare tire--ya hear?!
You bum rubber; fill you up with the holy
rolling scum, thumb your engorged
clit, slap you ass, friction ain't
no fiction for cash, the pearl
under my thumb, head over heels
for the filthy rich white trash girl
who crawled inside of me 'n'
turned out the tar road biker
leather the same bloody night, mate:
dig deep, dig this downtown:
the Black Goddess Kali for me
in shavasana, corpse pose, listening
to Firehose bass dubbed below
a gospel siren being screwed to a moan
with a round tone blossoming
into a red light rose, flashing, pulling us
over
to walk the line or pony up hard
cold cash for a piece of copper ass
with that brass monkey coming back.
Comin' back, coming back for gory
rosie, rosie, ring around the rosies;
all of the them dripping on the doilies
of your dress under my boots. Shoot,
don't wanna know (Who asked you to lie for me?)
your name, gotta pocket full of poseurs.
Take aim, baby, below the belt, trousers:
SHOOT!
Bang! Bang! For what else? Cash.
Oldest profession in the world:
soldier of fortune, never head or heels
in the line of duty. Walk the line. Come on,
suck it up. Who asked you to bawl for me?
Who asked you to pray for my soul down in the hole?
Who asked you to write to me when I was in the pen?
Will you survive your next salami tonight?
How 'bout now...this afternoon?
Tomorrow fucking morning @ work?
No. Of course, you will! Cash.
Gonna eat it. Godhead. Cash.
Fuck the police!!!! FUCK THE POLICE!!!
Make copper's third eye burn: ring of fire.
copyright 2006
Nelson
Gary |
