Cold rain falls in the river, flows down to the sea, gets into the skyline, circles endlessly. Same old rain on the wind, same old pain in my soul.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Gimme Shelter

Billy Hobart steps gingerly to the porch
as the frightened screen door
screams from his feeble grip
shifting the dog into panic

looking to the pasture,
he spots the chestnut mare
looking back, wild-eyed,
her mane a thousand crazy
kite strings

as the barn door slaps BANG!
on its twisting hinges,
his cap takes flight
chasing Miss Lucy's
shit green garbage can
down the drive

far out to sea,
the fishing has been fair, but now
Tom Patterson stares narrow-eyed
through the helpless wipers
as Jack sits the little stove
two-handing his coffee cup,
leg over knee, on the folding chair

the rollers have grown teeth,
swagger, and two fish
in the water dance wildly
on their cable, saying
as if!

list and wallow?
run and swamp?
or dare to luff?

Jack lifts his filthy cap
to rub his brow
and one-eyes Tom
who can only shrug

Sometimes, a moment too long
is a lifetime too short

I feel it now
as this blow barrel-rolls
across the ridge and
hammers the hollow flat

I feel the burp of
the ocean deep
rising and churning

fences fly
and lights flicker

windows bend
and rain becomes a million shards
of black stained glass

somewhere in my memory
there's a time, a place,
a gentle raft on still waters,
a mountain top of soft powder,
a girl lying upon stained linen
smoking my last cigarrette
in the red candle light

I don't wish the storm away,
wouldn't purchase promise
if it sold two for a quarter

but here
in the midst of the rage,
in the belly
of the storm,
just before I make my last chance run,
for just a moment

gimme shelter