Friday, June 27, 2014

Hairy Story


Irene wrote this on Orange Is A Fruit

a period piece

I am perhaps, something
the cat dragged out of
the attic. A candlestand
in need of a shine.
Silvo or brasso.
An Aladdin’s lamp.

You’re as ramshackle.
Can’t decide what you are
except for all this pinball
energy, amidst dead timber.
Start up the woodfire,
we’re headed to the highlands.

To which I replied:

Hairy Story

I was the towhead
at five and curly brown mop
at fifteen, went straight
at twenty six years,
also moved to Oregon.

The curls, they came back
and I had to dry
out at thirty eight for her.

It's all been my hair.

I know why guys shave
it all off and use that fleece
to shine a chrome dome.
But me, I've gone long
and it's getting in my food.

Hey! My color's good.

‎April ‎18, ‎2014 1:41 PM

Rest in peace, old friend of my soul.
My heart still aches.

4 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Composer of "My Sweet Lord", "Taxman", "Here Comes The Sun", and "Something".

      Delete
    2. My heart still aches and my guitar gently weeps.

      Delete

The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.


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