Treasure Island

Cin Sweet Fields


Guitar In the Park


Wind's angry blowing
howling and coughing up
it's gap toothed icy spit
at me i reckon
at me, on me, thru me,
my wools soggy wet,
anyway, damn bad choice
and this gibson,
damn big clumsy
wooden box of a thing it is
...ahh...for a washed out she
like me,
Heartless choking snapping strings,
It just ain't in me
I haven't, can't muster
even a pitiful quarter note
of layed out perfection
to feed it
it's royal majesty-
blood sucking parasite it is,
i'm not carefree or star enough
sure as all hell ain't cool enough
to pyre it though i would,
you better believe it I would too,
Chunky clunky awkward shell
it knows everything about me
hell, all it does is watch
and take notes
i'm a big fat Fake with it, well
between us
without it too, but i've skinny fingers
its all in the having it
you know the I got it look,
Holding it all important
like a big dead hooked fish
For a newspaper photograph.

Submitted: Sunday, March 05, 2006
Edited: Sunday, June 28, 2009

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