Unsung Blues

The Beetles in the air
in the bric-a-brac
and wood shack.
The yellow room bellow isn’t
so mellow with the
guitars stressing, bending
over something other
than their notes.

My lime would make
no good boat other
than the one it brought me
floating on
to these steps on 6th st.

but my hat is
large and this Texas
country big enough
for the both of all
of us, enough to get lost in, but
not lose. No I
won’t spare a nickel, man. I
need it, can’t you won’t you know
me like i know
you never will?

Send me up the hill & wait till
I get back Jill,
Jack’s on stage pitchin
fire water, slingin it at
Stubb’s Barbeque
the place the grill-rubbed grub is
good and you can find me here
this tuesday.

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