Blues Turn Purple

The taste of bitter, taste of harsh, extreme. It’s what I say I like.

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1 min read
Blues Turn Purple

The taste of bitter, taste of harsh, extreme.
It’s what I say I like. The rattling of
the cage, the cage I welded. Picked the locks.
Now John Lee Hooker sings, “It serves you right
to suffer.” Sex life dying, like my black
dog, boon companion, old graybeard. Like me
on better days. The woods walks and the dozing
straight through sidewalk snow at night. Ring in
the changes. Like alarms. I’ve sleepwalked down
a brocade hall to fall into a darkened
parlor. Planets, the regrets that orbit,
crown of hornets. Blues turn purple every
time I try to write. I worry, though:
my loved ones pay so dearly for this art.


Thomas Zimmerman teaches English, directs the Writing Center, and edits The Big Windows Review https://thebigwindowsreview.wordpress.com at Washtenaw Community College, in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His poems have appeared recently in Black Dog Review, 8 Poems, and Tiny Flames Press. Tom's website: https://thomaszimmerman.wordpress.


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