Jan 29th

tiny device

in the palm of my hand

transports me back

to a distant land

a paddock

out on the edge of town

footage

rarely glimpsed before

backwards

through the march of time

scant photos

random audio bites

same ol’ nudies

same ol’ groovers

now in my palm

it all comes back

in living nightmarish

black and white

and leaden stop motion

the power of that crazy night

that mirthless man

his deadpan crew

guitar at the ready

like an armed 22

pumping out all he knew

sorta kinda

rock steady

a dull shade of blue

but somehow enough

to raise the roof

not that there was one

just the sky and the stars

and a Marshall stack

and a joyless groove

living proof

you don’t have to be

that good

an intense sense of

self

will get you through

with a hompa bompa

Ah-oop-poop-pah-doop.

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