Whiskey Hymn - Part 2
so love us ’cause “I’m the hoochie-coochie man”,
not way over there, but here because we gotta' get our feet groovin'
the path of the seer-serpent probing our souls believin’ our believin’ eyes in askin’,
do you be “secret agent man?”
because they’ve taken your number and given me your name I
raise in exultation of bone-bred pain screaming for a strangling
of questions “in the shadow of the city” risen from scorched, grinning alleys
strewn with hope-seeds born in the spittle of fertility, ancient
moments still watching over the sacred egg from which we came – and
shriven of barrenness I throw back my head to yell,
“you ain’t nothin’ but a houn’ dawg”
nothin’, nothin’ but a
houn’ dawg, houn’ dawg
runnin’ tongue-led along my trail joined
to your redolent thread, us sweetly inflamed with “bad, bad whiskey – and we’ve lost our home”,
bad, bad, bad, bad whiskey, highway of liquid-burning sin and yelping salvation
from heaven and hell to the beyond of the subway station confessed with “I love you”,
and the only answer I need is redemption of the night
steeped in the beautiful, bad bad whiskey
of your eyes…
… and the whispering hymn of the wind…
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