On Crenshaw

on crenshaw carousing in cavernous cafes slicing into earthen skin the meat dancers bring it to a boil they murder the rug they scrounge for earth worms the fish head girls bob like sea birds telephoning purple mermaids for a date they have no name tags and no flowers they sing sad madrigals to the starfish they know this is the last pavane the final curtsy before night goes down before morning arises under white sheets loosening the brain screws burning the instruction manuals imbibing the nylon remonstrations on crenshaw a lonely woman croons an oozing torch song to the dirt people they sit erect in a dark morgue chittering like insects singing cool blues music to the meat dancers they bring it to a boil with burgers bullets and beef cake genius guitar freak vivisects clawing time he twangs his axe with a searing solo he plays psychedelic lullabies to the dead his music torturing the earth worms