Ode to Waits

Tom Waits sung
in a haunted moan
in soliloquy
over blood-stretched bone
as he pounded jazz notes
out of twelve bar blues
in the thirteenth bar from the last
he'd choose
if he lived forever and you
were the last true love in the world,
and he gave you a pass
but don't feel personal.

That's just his mood,
and it always has pretty
much been unglued.