A little less bible, give me the belt.
Make me blue, give me wings,
make the house jive coffee, make it simmer,
jump and trip the wires – let it rip my cords.
Flash-time purpose, pinch and feel my throat.
No sense like the present, no purposeful feel and
certainly no spring uptown or down low.
A little more belt, tightened around my waist,
slipping down, way down.
Give me a zap, a current – sizzled fat or
bone to dirt – I’ll take them both.
A little less bible – give me a belt. Give me
black, give me toes with straight-up curls –
make me pant the word – help me dance the sin.
2010 Barry Comer