Tuesday, July 14, 2015

Song of an Old Bluesman

I rode bulls and water-skied with Lightning Hopkins
(his women wore pistols around their waists).
I sang “Purple Rain” in an empty bar

beneath the flash of blue and red lights.
I’ve bent notes on a six string guitar.
I’ve made the end of a bottleneck cry.

I’ve done time in the caverns of my mind.
I’ve faced the throne of death
and looked it in the eye.

Long ago, I launched a kite into the sky.
It was held up by a big wind and tugged at my hand.
It ran out of string and I watched it go.