Friday, June 15, 2012

Jay Levon - One Poem

Tweaker Afternoon

Steph is claiming
she can dance
like the virgin Mary
seducing the ghost of God,
but Eddie is
too fucked up to care.

And he's staring out
through slits in tin foiled windows
wildly scanning the perimeter
for traces of FBI, or DEA,
or that CIA cyborg
that's programmed to
eradicate all tweakers.

Angie moans
from her place on the floor.
And she's wearing nothing
but filthy cotton panties,
and she's complaining
that her tits hurt
and she's worried a hole
into the soft tissue.

Ty holds flame to glass
and starts the process
all over again.
"This is the last of it," he says
while hoping against hope
that the tweaker saints
will deliver more
and save him
from going out
into the harsh
vampire world.

And he remembers
when he was
a little boy,
and how his mom
would read him
Bible stories,
and he wonders
what she would think
if she were alive
to see him now

that he's all grown up
with no place to go.

Jay Levon was born in the Ozark Mountains to a family of dirt farmers, musicians, preachers, and other such miscreants.  He now lives in Mountain Home, Arkansas with a latex she-bot named Lola, and the occasional dead hooker.

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