It was in Victoria town
that my harp found alive and well.
Fraser on guitar
when miracle found me there.
Raw music
in back of Lucinda.
I think Fraser said it was
on the scale of twelve
Thats when it grabbed me.
I knew it was there;
somewhere.
Not sure if it was the whiskey
or frame of mind
but that harp
came to life.
Well now I put that harp aside
and I sit quiet
For opportunity to once again
arise.
1 comment:
that's poetry collapsing outta that man's tube, it spiralled up and down Lucinda's back and still hangs in that coon infested cedar scrubbed with the bleach of a white g spot slopped on the stump by some hack who chopped it off so his old lady wouldn't ram the impala fender again and wake up the insane doctor next door after lurching in from gin-go bin-go again. ya, that harp sang the blue notes of the birds that disappear before we spot em, go ahead try and watch em, they gone, like Son House, east, come morning, no notes, just hairy hatch feathers shorn and stuck in your crotch, born, ready again, to fly
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