running the keys

One of the few pieces he wrote of his LA-based muse "Suede", back in the day.

running the keys

the smoky sounds of a well-tempered pianoforte.
calling the faithful to worship at the altar.
sacrifices not enough to call the bluff
of the gods of salty sweet madness. bless
the night, for it has sinned and we are twinned
into unity. free of the doubt left behind
in the curious eddies of the smoke of the dragon
that gently throbs a blues riff on a row of ivory teeth
that grin with the knowledge of what it is doing
to me.
to you.
to us.
and to the rest of the night.
when it sleeps.
but we cannot, for the heat is upon us.
and within us.
and will singe us
until we boil over.
with a different music.


William F. DeVault. all rights reserved.