Only One Kind of Blues

sound like shoulders for the yoke
love & a case of small batch bourbon
grows like mint in small spaces
regulated by tiny blue cynics
civic leaders wish to screw like poor
starlets in california’s fin de siècle
there can never be just one song
with fifty two percent of the world
so my front window never locks
winter is a cold, rough feel of our luck
these new dealers on the dance floor
fear silence that morning wind relates
clever like thieves but without the patience
smash my windshield & never get to change