Egg at the Odd of Night

Written by: Dort James

inventoried oval-stoned
cathedrals appealing
chiming crimes of passion
woke citronella
hung in cement-hamocked snowdrifts
cloaked slow on slick-stained windowsides
tenement sheets
with the pomegranate notes
of rhythms unrhymed
   while all the uptown laundromarts
rising up
from insomniac-scrambled sidewalks
corked-copper moon tumbling earthward
like a sweet
sweatshredded pennants
   of sun-saliva silks on rain-dribbled cotton
cherry-flat footsteps lust-percussive
under shamble-wracked sills
pause and then pass on
momentarily appeased in time by
blued bars on fly-fouled panes
bell tower-balanced above
   taverns abutting back alleyways of
by fireplace mantle-pieced nooses
of nylonic shirts and poly slacks
and musts dusted-down
past stockinged-lidded faux plastic lampshades
passed on past magnolia movements
of fingertips on muscle surfaces
defoliate-spun spinnakered islands
chocked choked
in passing lynched adhesion
ignoring nicotine-papered stripteasing walls
or scotch-spat skirtings
creeping pedestal for
a moulded tangerine ceiling stuccoed into sudden mute
rinsed down a night-scented-taking-stock
split-mirrored motel door
they go lunging over greasy chapels of
breakfast jasmine-tea-stained mock vinyl rugs
squeaking cot now like some
concreted river bed's of slump
of stun-spurned wants broken down
consciousness half-considered