D.B. Cox
D.B. Cox is a blues musician/poet from South Carolina. His writing has been published online in Zygote In My Coffee, Remark, Underground Voices, Thieves Jargon, Dublin Quarterly and others, and in print in Aesthetica, Bonfire, Gator Springs Gazette, Heat City Review, My Favorite Bullet and Open Wide Magazine.
He has recently had three books of poetry published: Passing For Blue published by Rank Stranger Press, Lowdown by Pudding House
Publications, and Ordinary Sorrows also published by Pudding House.
sidewalks of canal street
the “big easy” lies
like a dark, bleeding animal-
an old man with no name
face washed away
by hurricane rains
dies without objection
over two bottles of water
& half-a-bag
of powdered donuts-
frazzled mind
running like a wild dog,
the young killer
stares down
through bewildered eyes
trying hard to work
his own angle of reference
dying remnants of order
struggle in the bloody water
then sink- eight feet
to the sidewalks
of canal street
i lay me down
--- for Brautigan
tiny voice of the counter-culture
found-dead as hell
rotting on the floor
beside a bottle
& a .44
loser in a one-man gunfight
against a deadly hand-
caught unprepared
during those minutes
of the day & night
when the nasty
black fingers started to pull
at his dirty shirt tail-
abandoned & ignored
by the hip crowd
who once danced
like the children of hamlin
to his clever songs-
he finally fell
for the sexy dark eyes
of sister suicide-
now
the forever hungry
cannibals circle naked
around his body
tearing away chunks
of another deserted son
no longer watched over
by the fickle
machine of mercy
refuge
tonight I need refuge
from black wings
& deadly things
that wait out there
just across the river
so i trade black market prizes
soap-cigarettes-johnny walker red
for a borrowed bed
a dangerous woman
& all the dope i can smoke
feeling lucky tonight
like I’m caught
in someone else’s dream
as her fingers
play my tired body
like a blue cello-
moving my thoughts
away from ordinary sorrows
tomorrow morning
i’ll hold her hand
a little too long
talk about love & mean it-
for now
because there’s not enough love
left between here & the grave
& you can never
blame your heart
or your hands
for trying to hold onto
all they can of heaven
across the river
i kneel down
by the river bank
& come back up
wearing my muddy
midnight face-
the moon glows
like a scarf thrown
over a lamp
i flip my zippo
light my last lucky strike
& contemplate
an enemy no longer
worth hating-
worried about
the gathering of days
chipping away
at the already lousy odds
i count my sins
so i know
just how long to pray-
hard concentration
as i try to empty myself-
give up my body
to whoever-whatever
waits on the other side
across the river-a line of trees
dying branches
pushed by a purple wind
claw at the moon-bright sky-
backlit water moves by
pulling at my reflection
the realization i’ve played
this scene before-
a shiver tracks my spine
like cold water
over bones
