Sycophant Blues In Seattle

Slowly dripping down the steamy panes To the warm floor, where the gasps And the moist rest into numbness, On a rainy nameless afternoon. The sax fawning over the thin ankles As they daintily savor the dark. And the piano chords tickling The brazen cheeks of drowsiness. And then you pull out from the touch For a smoke that fills the room with attire All words are silent and all trees are free, Unwonted by any cunning tongue or alphabet of God And I keep looking this story in its fiery eyes Waiting for its breath to ground and humble me.