Blood Moon Blues by A.D. Winans



Strange this trip back in time
Not with flesh and blood
But in disguise of words
The muscles the cells changing
Dying and yet somehow surviving
Traveling through a warped time tunnel
Through an origin you cannot remember
Because there is no you to remember it
Walking behind my shadow
Shedding the years like
A burlesque dancer sheds her clothes

I who have never called myself a poet
Never clothed myself in consonants
Vowels similes or metaphors
Yet planting the words on the page
Like a florist prepares a bridal banquet
A tender arrangement of flesh and bone
At war with the demons who leave behind
A Custer massacre of words

Approaching eighty I race the clock like
a hungry dog sniffs a gourmet meal
Left feeling like the last sentinel
The last paying customer
At the last movie show

All these years an explorer
Set out to discoverer a new world
Blindfolded without map or compass

The Holy Grail a shameless slut
Plays the role of a gypsy fortune teller
Spits out bits and pieces of the puzzle

The poems arrive like
A migration of birds
Poems mated with a full blood moon
Left cooking these strange images
Like a fry cook sweating over
A greasy grill

Waking at three in the morning
With half-remembered dreams
My eyes a heat-seeking missile
Honing in for an invisible kill
Feeling like a junkie overcome
With tremors
A matador waving a red flag
In the face of a raging bull
A blind man tapping
Into raw emotion

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