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March 15, 2015

You walked in to this Del Norte
bar like a drifter in pearls
wearing a rocker trilby, dreaming
of a door to your heart, playing
saxophone, your discounted paintings
on the wall born to sin, but when it came
to paint you weren’t, except in the bed
of a pickup parked under the Redwoods
on this coast in the Spring rain
on your way to Portland, or was it Eugene
the smell on your thighs fresh salmon
the taste of hazelnut on your nipples.
When the wind ripped the siding off
you longed for the nails & wondered
about South Carolina, or someplace
in between where there was no coast
no ocean, no piano bar imitators
close enough for jazz but not for sex
just pickups & juke boxes playing
what you would have written
had you any place else to dream of.

From → Leigh, Poems

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