Beneath the Spin * Eric L. Wattree
In perfect ecstacy, all alone,
in my inner sanctum
of paper, pen, and saxophone;A perfect bubble of perfect bliss,then the telephone ringsand it goes all amiss.A bluebird called with a siren song,so blue, so sweet, and clear;
My blissful bubble became empty space
without her dulcet tones to caress my ear.But soon her tune began to change -her feathers flared when I was least remiss;What started as nirvanic revelryis now poised to become a blister on my bliss.Nevertheless I cannot rest without her sweet song within my ear;So as she wastes her time flaring her feathers,I’m building a "cage" to keep her near.In perfect ecstacy, all alone,in my inner sanctum of paper, pen, and saxophone . . . Featuring Bluebird.
Rickey Woodard on Saxophone
To my sweet, but ornery buddy, Rita - who lives to put blisters on my bliss.Love ya, Baby.
Eric L. Wattree
Citizens Against Reckless Middle-Class Abuse (CARMA)
Religious bigotry: It's not that I hate everyone who doesn't look, think, and act like me - it's just that God does.