I only ever loved on woman
Her name needled into my arm forevermore
In small scratched black ink, “Lenore.”
Though I was abandoned at birth,
The lovely Lenore learned me healing.
I had one other love that trumped
A love for the road and leaving.
A rubber tramp, barely breathing
If I stuck in a town too long.
She however, was oxygen.
I would visit her stately stead,
Hoping for a meal, hoping for warmth
Hoping for the touch which warned
Warned of weary discontent and malcontent.
A touch forged with a demon’s hammer.
It was fuel for my heart
And though I would beg her,
Begging for company on the lone road,
No interest in my travel showed.
The fuel transferred from heart to tank.
Primitive Poetry 