Stars undiminshed by a HUGE waning moon emerging
over Cascades we sit @
Jimi's
grave, the modest stone of Jimi Hendrix Forever in Our Hearts.
Dipper visible it
follows our surreptitious adventure
as
we
walk hand-holding across the cemetary grounds. I'm
dining
on sound, on
memories
of a
guitar played backwards on Red House ELECTRIC air
shaped into the burn we knew it was
as
an illigitimate war against people w/
almond eyes drained the life force from us.
Scattered your stain
from
1942 a war year
to
1970 a war year bombs @ Woodstock
leave your guitar / pain of the unwilling accomplice
tonight that does not matter
our
own focus is Crosstown Traffic - so hard to get through to you our
present
of
fire is a candle lit & stuck on your tombstone.
So, too your guitar so
hot for a burn either fom your fingers or
it
can be finished off w/ matches, burn &
litter the stage @ Monterey
it's a scream mimicking the napalmed, we feel terror in our
bowels to be the unwilling accomplice
above our heads the planes still roar / help to take
what's
left
of what won't satisfy the burn within while we sit on your
bones & write to you.
No mercy in the attack as
bones rest / notes still
fly - a machine gun of Stratocaster
&
hear
the blood come out of fingers - hear Them Changes. We leave a
candle
burning figure it will help someone else get through to you.
Could
be the haze purple over Mountains Olympics could be
hair gray before its day could be your guitar wail of
lost opportunities to live
in harmony eros over civilization a
candle
light instead of a dark night YOUR light still
emanating
from something stellar, otherworldly, certain from
an
incredulous
burn.
The
shadow emerges as wind does
runs away, catches us somehow
licking our wounds we can plug you in let it all return to the sea.
Scotch
tape left from yet another paying respect I peel it
from
your
gravestone & wait to write
or remember a little loose jam, Johnny B. Goode
rushing from a guitar in a hurry
by James Marshall Hendrix - six string seity who still burns forever
in our hearts
amazement not containable it's
written
in our
eyes, it's pure
fire
& the process of alchemical calcination
so
many memories are burning. A nearby treebranch
creaks
& the wind
cries
Mary.
9:47AM8.29.02
508 E. Main
#E
Stars over Jimi's grave
Dipper, follows as we walk
dining on memories of
guitar shaped as an almond
scattered from 19421970
leave tonight our own
present of fire so hot
it can litter its bowels
above what's left of
bones. No, bones fly and
hearing the candle burning.
Could be hair lost in candle
light emanating from an incred-
ulous burn, the shadow runs
licking scotch tape from your
grave, or rushing by in
amazement written in eyes,
fire & so many creaks and
cries Mary.
11:24PM8.28.02