.

I remember that old electric guitar,
no name brand, a Fender knockoff,
stripped and painted
to look like an American flag
because Peter Fonda made it cool

That Silvertone amp, volume cranked
reverb, two inputs, tubes, bass, treble,
when Sears was the place where
music dreams came alive
because Dad had a credit card

Out in my parent’s garage,
Skippy on drums and John on bass
Wearing shades in the dark like John Kay
A tape recorder mike hanging from the ceiling
Playing “The Pusher” at all hours

Until the neighbors called my mom
and we had to shut the door
or turn it down, we shut the door
Black light posters, an old couch,
power saws and Christmas decorations

We were gonna be stars, rock stars
Chicks would dig us and guys would envy us
Our hair down to our shoulders
Incense to hide certain smells
Bad *** wasn’t even a term yet, but we were

Patch covered jeans, zig zag
and faded denim jackets,
peace signs and headbands,
Santana and Arlo, “Alice’s Restaurant”
Nothing could stop us

I remember that old electric guitar,
the guys are gone now, not dead, just gone
I can still hear Alvin Lee rocking “I’m coming home”
But somewhere along the line I got old (grew up)
when I wasn’t paying attention I guess

I still wear my hair a little long, a little
and I have nice collection of guitars
But that “Rock Star” dream faded long ago
Now I carry a different instrument,
I carry a pen...

and it’s a name brand pen

In oppressive summer heat
Too hot to hold fingers
I followed you through destruction

The Bomb Dome, the memorial,
Our silent brokenness
Mirroring the devastation

Naked, defenseless, burning
Lips parched for the soft touch
Of love or lies, I begged for comfort

Again the rainfall answered
Its promise of respite
streaking decay through innocence

I drank deeply, desperately
To ease the emptiness
Of unspoken, abandoned dreams

Then rotting from within,
my mouth, my eyes, my fingertips
Betrayed all I had held inside

Let them reinforce my bones
Brace with resin and steel
Despairing arms outstretched for you

So that I too can be a symbol
Of peace that never comes.

do you wanna die?
see everyone you've lost,
wash away tears with another good cry?
you walk around
with a monkey on your back
and the chip on your shoulder
has a formed a stubborn crack
that never seems to spread

there is a point
where your legs will refuse you

your mind with lose you
and disagree with the words you write

your palms will ease;
slowly the tension slides off of you

as you wake up
in a purple nightgown delirious

you'll run and knock at the door of your bad habit
to find he has moved houses, and you don't remember
his phone number

4 a.m. your mind is clear
a new head sits upon your shoulders