Adolescence

Not long after the boy became a man
Did he first pluck his first guitar. He strummed
The instrument like milk on honey, jam
On toast, a cigarette that’s tinged with vellum
Tasted ‘twixt a woman’s opened book.
The adolescent dropped away the day
He played his tune. The music shook and took
The souls of list’ners far and wide, they say.
And where he went from there, a cubicle
in Des Moines. Fame, they also say, is fickle.

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 )

Twitter picture

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

Facebook photo

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

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s