Same Tower of Song, Different Williams
(for Lucinda)
how many bracelets can one arm take? no wonder there’s more than a hint of muscle in that supple whipcord arm and that’s not hair that’s a mane – looks like you chew the split-ends of it with your own gorgeous horse mouth full of teeth ‘n tough talk wit…if gene vincent was the zanzy you must be the bluesy woozy doozie floozy in a dust-belt jacuzzi and oh how bluesy can you get: bluesy as bessie (‘tain’t nobody’s business if she is) bluesy as rainey (ma she’s makin’ eyes at me) bluesy as sister rosetta (stoned on eve’s apple-juice) bluesy as saffire celebrating their silver beavers and their footprints on the ceiling…you’re like the waitress whose mouth says is there anything else I can get you? want more coffee? whilst her eyes and her self-gnawed self-pleasuring mane says we can fuck tonight after I finish here if you like - my van not yours my house my rules…those eyes are big and wide but memory claims they were narrowed in soupҫon-of-suspicion attempts to come across as wire-weave old leather anti-leatherette stinger she-hornet…you sing like your nose is lined with sandpaper…you sing like your throat is lined with velvet and all with that cavern of a guitar resting on your bony truth-hips - your voice is a roachy joint filled ashtray…you look as if you anoint your skin with paraffin all over…I can taste your salt inside your oily swarfega sweat scent with a rib-cage that makes you look like iggy pop with breasts: oh that kerosene carapace! you play with my fear of missing out when you spin me with that jukebox look “if loving you is wrong I don’t want to be right” and just because something’s not right it doesn’t mean it won’t be fun…you mock the unlived life…you’re as explosively smart as the greatest song as assured as the most perfect poem as brackish as crucial campfire coffee…drawl me another one…rosin those vocal chords with your steel-wool phlegm and nail it again for the sisterhood till the world is just one big crucified jesus and all we’re left with is your flame of presence your savvy sass of slow-burn energy your pierced pitch-pipe pazzazz!
Ted Eames, 2022