Backstage I noticed how small he was, how slight that withered hand was shaking mine.
The Place To Be
In the mind a land
reachable only on
the mind’s highway.
A rough ride at times,
the road rising sharply
above oceans and stars,
eventually landing you
on time. Though time
has no meaning there,
nor will meaning have
any meaning, for that
matter. Little happens,
either, except for a lost
gang of clouds maybe
meandering in, ridden
by calming songs or
wild storms, even rare
sunsets from other
galaxies show up for no
reason whatsoever. Or
a warm wind might stop
by for a chat. Oh, nothing
beats it. Especially if it
happens to be an August
wind. Did I mention that
it’s always August there?
John Lee Hooker
Backstage I noticed how
small he was, how slight
that withered hand was
shaking mine. On stage
he looked miniscule,
a tiny shadow crunched
up in bright light. Then
he brought forth the music
and a giant whipped the sky.
Write a Song About Me
The light was bright in there. They harassed me with questions I couldn’t answer. “But I’m loyal,” I complained. I heard snickers and felt a slap, the crack of a hand against my cheek. “Take him back!” the Commander barked. They dragged and pushed me into my filthy, cold cell. It was Saturday. The mall was packed. Families stopped to gawk at me curled up behind the glass. Kids pointed and laughed. A sign above me read: Anti-Shopper Scum! A burley man shouted, “They should fill him full of lead!” A voice on the speaker announced excitedly information about a special on mattresses and the mob charged off, leaving me alone to stare at the Apple store across the way. It was jammed with shoppers. I wanted to be happy like them. Didn’t I?
