On a House Boat, in New Orleans, in 1925

On a House Boat, in New Orleans, in 1925

                Stonecrusher Mortlock rifles
through lady's undergarments when ladies
are sleeping, husbands on deck dancing
cigar mouths turning like ferry wheels
in the whisky echo of big jazz and
whisper colored lights
                Stonecrusher Mortlock who drank mead from the blue
skull of Paul Bunyan's ox and stole the apple
bag from Appleseed and spit across
the Midwest, eating buffaloes and the tornado
that Pecos Bill rode
                Stonecrusher Mortlock’s calluses
catch on lace and hooks, silk and corset bones and brocade
                Stonecrusher Mortlock who was born of a man, from a long line of men
begetting men burst
from his father's womb, a crocodile already in the fist
                Stonecrusher Mortlock in the bottom
of the boat turning
a corkscrew through the boat belly,
when the women
see the water and holler
that their old children have swung forth
                Stonecrusher Mortlock rushes
his burled knuckles on their
shoulder skin,
he swims them ashore on his broad back, their
naked ankles
in the coal clear night, they’re
saying who is this