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Wipe it Clean, Now, Jimmy
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Older That fretboard is glowing at me with eerie intent at me
Through the sheer plastic interface which covers all things glued.
“When will the permanence of it all suddenly begin again once I retire?”
Asks the man of himself as he sits at the coffee table
In the coffee shop, drinking dark coffee
On a wooden coffee chair.
“Mmmm. . . . Smell that smoky taste. . . isn’t it robust?”
That’s what I like about him. I realize now, after all these years.
Amazingly, I’ve never thought about locusts before. . . . . . . . ever.
The deformed mouth is about to tell me what it’s going to do with me.
Glass won’t break as long as that wink is in my direction.
I want that glance to give me a meaningful and hidden message.
I’ve come to expect it – he’s gonna fly, sooner or later.
