M .D. Friedman writes from the moment chiseled fresh with revision. He draws influences from sources as divergent as William Butler Yeats and the delta blues. His poems have appeared in numerous small press publications & e-zines. He has four volumes poetry available through the Internet Poets' Cooperative at http://www.poetscoop.org and is the creator of a new genre of poetics he calls Digital Poetry.
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Saturday, July 17, 2010
The Mojo Queen
I was walking down the street, who you think I see?
All the people move away, as she walk up to me.
She the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen.
With each step the ground it shook.
Everybody talk 'bout the money she took.
She look you in the eye, and shake her monkey paw.
She stick her daddy with a pin just to see him fall.
She the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen.
She keep two eunuchs to keep her clean.
It take two words to get her mean.
She eats crude oil, drink gasoline.
She'll saw off your arm to steal your ring.
She the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen.
She makes her blend of eyes and tails.
If that don't do it, she's got her pills.
She makes young women cry and old men scream,
When she talks with ghosts and reads your dreams.
She the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen.
She seduced me with her rooster wine,
wiggled her lip and made my hoodoo shine,
then she sprouted warts inside my hand,
and turned my woman into a man.
She a Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen
She the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen
She the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen
She the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen, the Mojo Queen.
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