a smoke filled room
in one of  New Orleans low wards
the kind of place that can change you
in a moment
and leave you dreamin about a face
that you saw in a moment
in the dark light
a face that had her voice
a face that held a world of promises
and held a heart full of sunshine's love

the smoke filled room is still there
you return to it each night
drink yourself stupid trying
to recapture that moment
recapture that face
that voice
that love
but shes gone

disappeared that night
down the road in the pouring rain
down to the factory's that never sleep
to the river road
where the small ships and the great liners
embark for points distant
for places that you cant even pronounce

and that's where she has gone
like a cloud
she drifted away
that smoke filled room is still there
and so are you every night
praying someday she will return
and every day
you labor on the river
fishing for hope
in the dark waters
of despair

down on the river road
the old men gather
to tell their tales
of sea fairing
and of deep waters dream
but river men have their own tales to tell
of mysterious women dressed
all in black luring men to watery death
in backwater or bay
so is it for naught you waited
all these years
perhaps instead of being punished
you are being spared
a watery grave in backwater or bay

he came down out of the mountains
came down out of the deity halls
of the mighty rocky mountains
riding a pale horse
with a gun in his hand
young to the eye
but his truth is miles of darkness
that few souls would dare

he came into the ***** town
and stepped into the waterin hole
with a wary eye
the crowd there was too involved in the
young ***** on the stage
in her various stages of undress
in the various stages of her futile demise
they are all dying down here in the flatland's
some kind souls try and stem the tide
but most just seek to sate thirsts before
they go to the valley of death below

he waited for the songs all to fade away
he waited for the hungry crowd to seek another meal
and then he came to her
then he walked into her narrow visions
he knew she would come
knew she had nothing left here
but the empty valley of death below
he tossed the barman
thirty pieces of silver
and romanced the petals
of her minds soft flower
soft so kind and convincing
to her unwilling ear

she finally could no longer resist
she scummed to the fever
and he picked her up
carried her to his steed
rode slowly out of town
not a soul saw him
not a soul cared
on up into the mighty rockies
he rode with her still form in his arms
into the bitter cold
and long night
an outlaw
of the highest order
one who has thieved from the kingdom below
down in the valley of death below

the hunched figurine
the tablet of her arm
has written there the church of her desires
each vein has a scar
blackened by collapse
and my lips seek them
and with such tender kisses
i do worship her and her devotions
the tool box comes out
and she delves into the greasy depth
withdrawing a single
straight narrow viper
with the poisons loaded
it stares at me
she licks her wet lip
and invests in me
the dream
i wait the bitter watch of night
with her false sleeping touching my shoulder
and jarring her back from the soft place
she runs her hand up my cold chest to lips
my kisses so tender of her church
trackmarks on my heart
after the bitter
is heaven

your bold words ring hollow
your intent was true
but the years have gathered on your limbs
struggle to breath
struggle to pretend that enduring this
will bring some measure of peace
will bring some answer to the long years
bargain with the devil
for a longer day but she holds all the cards
and keeps banking records of all your hearts
humble ideals ready to cash in on your weaker moments

the bare bulb dusty room
the appalling barrenness of its leathery skin
and the scent spins in my head like an illness
screaming its foul intentions
but i am drawn in
its soft seductive voice
after the bitter
after the thirst
it pours itself into my arms
and unbuttons its jeans
the unspoken is that its soft and warm
and after the bitter
after the thirst
it seems like a place i could be
ugly place i willingly wander

a feast of images
so many colors
and interesting things
pretty pictures
listen to the small screaming sounds as she consumes them
see the seeping flow become a
puddle of creeping figures
they make their way cross the room
to  her footstep
they shadow her moves
each one has a hand to the pulse of feelings
emotion plays to the heart of every play she makes
make no mistake

puddle of creeping figures
each individual one
a shadowy man in a grey overcoat
but as a mass they resemble
a smiling face of a woman familiar to you
familiar enough to get close with a blade
pool of creeping figures
a shallow lake of bleeding images
that makes strange sounds as it moves with
incandescent life
see her eyes glow like bloodworms
but she is what i desire
i french kiss her ideal
she will be heaven to me after the bitter