Adirondack Airs Poem by Mark R Slaughter

Cigar
O how she fogs
the room

lil' Betelgeuse
reddens on the draw

she's parked
tucked inside the dryness
of my mouth

…

Detuned courses
ring to fingers

steel blues
cools the air

I'm under call
of axe

we're mates

bending out a bass
I hammer on
to drift

I, BLANK-FACE

whisky-honed black-eyes

cruise the abalone

adirondack airs the tone
to life

She sings!

my only need -
a dozen strings


Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012












































































































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