I’m
listening and it’s breaking my heart.
My
entire heart, every part of it.
You
wear your ragged glory like a patriot who knows the jig has been up since the
jug was uncorked.
No
one’s shooting straight.
Gumption
has been outlawed and so has chutzpah and any belief in yourself.
I
watched as you cradled your guitar and it made me wonder where the baby and the
bathwater had gone off to.
I
know people talked while you played at Victorian’s.
I
also know how much it pissed me off because I knew you’re a voice crying in the
wilderness.
Here’s
the problem with people who don’t listen, they oftentimes have to rinse and
repeat because they failed to hear the flowers their first go around.
There’s
an engineer and he’s blind, but he’s holding onto his crucifix all the same
because God’s either gonna show up or at the very least deliver a bullet to put
this sad son of a bitch out of his misery.
I’m
listening and it’s driving the stake even deeper into my heart.
We
broke bread together and then we broke heads and when we were through all that
existed were these chords and your plaintive moan. Thank you.
Charles Cicirella
5/24/2020
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