SNAKESKIN: The Poetry Webzine

filled his head with words. “Cry me a river,”
he sang, “’cause I’ve cried a river over you.”
On cloudy days sky would answer, chill damp
feeling its way through buttons of his coat.
Everywhere little ropes of song climbing
the stairway to heaven, doing the locomotion,
coming to hear Uncle John’s band. That’ll be
the day. Here it comes again, picking up
speed right through the tunnel of love – look
out, look out, Tommy, can you hear me? Do
we have an answer? Who did write the Book
of Love? How many freakin’ roads must
a man walk down? It’s not for me to say. I
write the songs, rock ‘n roll lullabies alive
in the caverns of your bent out, bourn up
mind. In case you were wondering, Jeremiah
was a bullfrog, I’ve seen him in the swamp
with his witchy woman and by the time I got
to Phoenix, aching feet and throbbing
calves reminded me of home. It was just
his bringing-upke than got him out of hand
in the sunshine, in the sunshine of your love.

If you've any comments on this poem, Steve Klepetar would be pleased to hear from you.