Saturday, July 02, 2011


Beneath the Spin * Eric L. Wattree


In perfect ecstacy, all alone,
in my inner sanctum
of paper, pen, and saxophone;
A perfect bubble of perfect bliss,
then the telephone rings
and it goes all amiss.

A bluebird called with a siren song,
so blue, so sweet, and clear;
My blissful bubble became empty space
without her dulcet tones to caress my ear.

But soon her tune began to change -
her feathers flared when I was least remiss;
What started as nirvanic revelry
is now poised to become
a blister on my bliss.

Nevertheless I cannot rest
without her sweet song within my ear;
So as she wastes her time
flaring her feathers,
I’m building a "cage" to keep her near.

In perfect ecstacy, all alone,
in my inner sanctum
of paper, pen, and saxophone . . .
Featuring Bluebird.

Rickey Woodard on Saxophone

To my sweet, but ornery buddy, Rita - who lives to put blisters on my bliss.
Love ya, Baby.

Eric L. Wattree
Citizens Against Reckless Middle-Class Abuse (CARMA)

Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.

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