Saturday, August 29, 2020

A voice, a vice

Give unto God what is God’s

and to the mudwrestlers what are the mudwrestlers’.

The girls work for tips, gents - the girls work for tips.

  

(Don’t we all, darling!)

The kingdom of bog is within me.

One forever morning ago

 

the Georgia red clay stuck its dog tongue

down my throat, and since

I’ve tried scrubbing it out and scraping it out

 

(gents, the ladies work for tips)

but it doesn’t go. The tinge remains

- shaming me, shaming me - on my flow.

- Karen Chamisso


No comments:

The turning point: watching our structures of governance tumble down

“Because I do not hope to turn again Because I do not hope…” Turn to good old T.S. for your prime modernist bluesing. Or to Billy Holiday. T...