Monday, November 17, 2008

Dead Rockstar Café

There's a place I can't go called Dead Rockstar Café
It's lost somewhere between Andromeda and Bombay
But possessed by a geist, I got a small sneak peak
of bumps in the night and things that go creak

The wood was so nice, the drinks quite a rush
I sat in the corner where I could keep things all hush
But then came my idol, appearing at the bar
real as in flesh, brandished flaming guitar

He set down his radiantly lush purple coat
shining black afro, dark as hell's mote
safe here in heaven, tho death doth us part
and brings back together those souls of lost art

Reaching across times longest forearm
he takes the stringed instrument down without harm
thumbs a brass note of distortion to quake
move and groove under, electric vibrate

Timeless and spaceless, servers never ask why
Excusing Jimmy Hendrix while he kisses the sky
Red house a yonder does call us along
Our souls a rumblin through on the great old bard's song

Like Otis said he'll just stay the same
out on the dock you see both ends of the game
Elliot smiths words to brighten, and tighten the air
of Cooke's long time coming, glass half full of glare

Since Shakespeare had hair on his chinny, chin, chin
The corporate pigs captured Kurt, and did himself in,
But lifeless, love can't kill, his ghost feels no pain
Spiteless, these artists pass on like Kobain

In symbols and structures that work in our minds
People suffer while we have such good times
Life's for the living, but there you don't stay
Nothing is wasted in Dead Rockstar Café

Poetry

3 Comments:

Blogger Devil Mood said...

They must be in their private Olympus...
Very enjoyable to read.

7:17 AM  
Blogger Captain Bee said...

Very nice.

11:11 PM  
Anonymous Chloe said...

that's so sweet Barrett. It's like a painting.

12:16 AM  

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