Hendrix Poem by Leslie Philibert

Hendrix



His Strat howls like a sick dog, his soul in flames,
his wah-wah mocks the warm night, ghosts dance over
the darkening fields; octaves flood the sea of strings -
healing and bringing together, a sea without water,
He will not be found again.
Peace, peace, he is not dead, he hath awakened to the
last major seventh, too cool to live forever.

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