The Gonzo Wolf

Tonight, I got what I wanted.

The stars aligned; just right.

I felt the ghost enter; my muse for the evening.

It began with home, or memories of.

Some good, some bad, some Dare, some Chad.

It passed in a moment, erased by my weapon of choice.

An Epiphone Hummingbird Studio acoustic guitar.

People with Gibson’s shit on us, but I like money.

I have little, but I like it.

It’s the same guitar with less zeros.

It’s also fun to say.

Epihone.

You can pronounce it all French-like and make it sound fancy at the shindig, dig?

Dallas weather permitted and family were elsewhere.

I sat in my porch swing, re-tuning her from the sudden cold (yes, guitars are like women; they shiver), and played.

I played to the sound of clunky busses.

I played to the footsteps of passerby’s unaware of my location, but privy to my essence.

Just me, my guitar, and the dark.

I played to the city.

Perhaps those notes brightened a day, sparked a love, or saved a life.

Even if I never hear the details, I can live with that.

Energy’s gift.

Healing.

Cats purr; I play.

Soul vibrations.

That’s all I wanted.