Poetry by Eric Sadler

HOWLING

I went howling to the Moon
And I hoped to outrun it
Before the days turn into nights
And she’s left with quite a

FRIGHT

Of Sing, Sing, Sing
And Etta James
And Charles Mingus
And Miles Davis
And Sir Duke
Who juke out those fountains of
Notes
That saw sway saw away
Out of that golden flashing bay.

And I see
Her
In the moonlight
Blocking
The way for me
But not for
Me
But against
Me.

And I guess she was
Dressed for quick
Double time
At the Hide-Away slime.
To chill with the yellow cats
Scratching their chairs
And lapping their beer
And having funny thoughts so queer
Until you think you’re gonna pass
Out
From the stuff.

But her dress was Green
And I was in Black
And she was bathed in
The spotlight of the Moon
And I was drenched with
Howling sweat.

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Please send any questions or feedback to Eric Sadler at etsadler@yahoo.com.

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And something tells me,
Far in the back of my
Escalator mind
That
Now
Would be….
Ah, I can see
Me
Grabbing her
And running away.

Just run and run and run and run and run
Until the Moonlight can’t keep up with sight.
And then she’ll love me.
And then she’ll see that
Howling at the Moon
Isn’t the worst a man can do…

But now I am in a cage
On a stage where she has trapped me
Away from my basket and the reeds and the river.
And in one
Cell where
I can
See
How she moves
And recall
Her body
Touching mine…

Kalla Ksha Minith.
She says to me.
Kalla Ksha minith.
I was never free.

Kalla Ksha minith.
Soth sorel si monin.
Alla non se marrow
Kalla ksha mi.

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