Madeline Steps:Four Colors
Madeline steps plum prelude,
predawn vineyard dreams,
her feet fluid fermentation.
Bleached blonde beachcomber,
Madeline steps a daisy shimmer,
like grapefruit slice mirage.
An opening orchid, Madeline
steps in wet cement, a lipstick
fossil for impending night.
Powdered granite and sesame seeds,
pale Madeline sleeps in Aladdin’s lamp,
a wineskin of footsteps in the sand.
A constant hum in apocryphal Tuscaloosa—
I’m fixing to perchance fish sober with Ned,
the good liar’s life
unreeled, or else a felony. Firearms beckon
my short-trousered gloom. I ring a li’l belle
sweet and lo—tempting
the gods of the heroic, gin-soaked South, way
auntie bellum. I make it most all up, a true
artiste. Them others ain’t
like bored you and I, being elsewhere cozy than this
chipboard tavern witness to a goldtooth’d black man
eating lit matches for drinks.
On ragged clause the tide scuttles in, strong boys
mind & lawyer; the rolling houndstooth circus
spectates its perennial
Defeat? Amusement? Madonna studies meanwhile,
my dead white ass—prurience, boy, the U’s vested
interest in who’s rung whose.