I got me a guitar.

The life of my hands jumps

the strings, forcing words out my mouth

with a sound of thunder popping, so

remember, this ain’t no opera,

where neon lights crackle with sizzle

and busted dreams lay scattered

in alley suitcases, cracked open like

eggs snapping on a griddle of grease,

spattering a life, pulling in the clouds

and drinking the rain as it falls on

city streets shining out the dirt like chrome

and making gum stained sidewalks

appear as glass as I play that here




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