SNAPPING THOSE STRINGS

 

 

 

The stars

don’t have

a chance

and that moon

up there

fat with cheese

smiling silver

and winking cold

holds not

a candle

to the man

and his guitar

pulling strings

thick like

Christmas bows

each note

popping up

like the sun

but that to

can’t hold

no heat

when those

picking fingers

snap into

fire

flaming alive

the song

from smoke

to blazing

burning jive

sweating the

foreheads and

hands with

the jazz

from that

man.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s