she sits sprawled ritz on persian rugs
down and out dusk in musty music rooms
lavander fabric tube loosely around legs
offering with words her orchestral self
even in a slouch she sings real songs of soul
every rest we hope to hear more
more warm heart harp , more poise
sheilded sight-wise by my back but i know
thats why i propped myself to face her
only here to play her piano
chinese buffet three A.M. monday and
she sneeks plates out the window to uh
pocket-hole patrons sidewalk sleeping
its okay on drugstore check-day she tips big
couldnt stand to see so many blind eyes
she said shed make it one set fewer
in glim fact thats how we met
then went back to her base to boogie
she shares her voice with a roach room
and i match the pattern with my hands