Needle and Pine | Michael Lee Johnson
Jesus in the devils dress-
I call you needle and pine…creator of flesh,
no flowers, brown eyes, I rock you in your base tonight,
no clouds in your heart,
a binding of mint moss around,
around your bark and trunk-spell
death to your taproot.
Absent minded you hum lies, shiver, swallow a steady cocktail
of birdseed from a variety of men, minus love, several plates-
nomad needle and pine on the streets.
Your lips bloody, crack and sore when the morning comes.
Skin and thighs pray for relief from nickels, dimes, offers-
street prey-scavengers from apartment towers,
and lean on window sills.
They form the groupies of the night-
the hookers of the night, hook and chains.
Players of different seasons show up in different dress.
Brown eyes, you creature of flesh.
Mysteries rise in your eyes,
you’re good at poker, stealing chips, absorbing glances.
Community life is nothing more than sparrow dropping into their shadows.
You live in the garret of small town-
trying to expand your world, hide away, hide away.
You live in the groins of my groins, and so many other lovers.
I’m reverence to you needle and pine, ginger,
toast an ounce red wine:
Chambord.
Jesus in the devils dress-
I call you needle and pine…creator of flesh,
no flowers, brown eyes, I rock you in your base tonight,
no clouds in your heart,
a binding of mint moss around,
around your bark and trunk-spell
death to your taproot.
Absent minded you hum lies, shiver, swallow a steady cocktail
of birdseed from a variety of men, minus love, several plates-
nomad needle and pine on the streets.
Your lips bloody, crack and sore when the morning comes.
Skin and thighs pray for relief from nickels, dimes, offers-
street prey-scavengers from apartment towers,
and lean on window sills.
They form the groupies of the night-
the hookers of the night, hook and chains.
Players of different seasons show up in different dress.
Brown eyes, you creature of flesh.
Mysteries rise in your eyes,
you’re good at poker, stealing chips, absorbing glances.
Community life is nothing more than sparrow dropping into their shadows.
You live in the garret of small town-
trying to expand your world, hide away, hide away.
You live in the groins of my groins, and so many other lovers.
I’m reverence to you needle and pine, ginger,
toast an ounce red wine:
Chambord.