The Well Cornered Claw

The Well Cornered Claw

I followed you to that place,

run out on cold hard-pan,

the sand still in my teeth,

the shore at my waist.

There's a flood in town,

and your boat has no sail.

I waited out there on a rock.

No indication, no medication

for my overly mindful third eye.

Upside-down pyramids

and dollar bills laid flat

on my driveway heading out of town. 

I was swamped in song,

a tune born of iniquity-

and coveting thy neighbor's wife.

Strike the heat, it's fighting weather.

Throw the clutch, drop the Duster into gear

and make fabric out of tar and pebbles.

I followed you to that place.

And waited for you and him.

That sun don't seem to ever go down.

She's telling my future, I'm living my past

She's telling my future, I'm living my past.

The well-cornered claw.

- July 2006