F W Finney


Memory Of A Mojo Filter (For Bob Woodbury) - Poem by F W Finney

Down
the
creaking,
wooden
stairs

through
the dusty, dank and
smoky air

to the
catacombs piled with coffined spirits,
wine, and beer
where under a naked light bulb’s
glare

we tuned guitars
and raked our hair
in a dungeon they called our dressing room.

Topic(s) of this poem: music


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Poem Submitted: Friday, March 14, 2014

Poem Edited: Friday, March 14, 2014


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