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gig

there’s going to be smoke.
billows and billows of acrid
burnt tobacco and chatter
and mindless waifs prancing
through the darkened room
like lumbering smoke stacks
spewing their plumes and
their gossip and their small
talk. red and blue and green
lights will trace out their borders
in contrasting lines. hearts will break.
minds will meld and the liquor. oh the whiskey
will fill each glass, again and again
and again. and at the appointed time
i will take my seat under a soot
stained beam and fire up my
soul – and a Lucky Strike.
i will reach down deep and lose
myself when the drums begin to pulse
and the steel strings vibrate through
orange glowing tubes and the crowds
fade and the lights fade and the smoke
fades and the liquor fades and i sink,
until gone, into that place where only
i can go. respite, soul, and Rock and Roll.

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12 thoughts on “gig

  1. “i sink,
    until gone, into that place where only
    i can go. respite, soul, and Rock and Roll.”
    oh my GOD Mike, this is gorgeous.
    the whole poem led me to that sinking place…
    your talent is crazy.
    unbelievable.

    • thanks E. its a fun one. im excited about my shows tonight and tomorrow (and next weekend) so I just cant seem to concentrate.

      the lucky strikes are burning holes in my pocket.
      figuratively of course.

      and yes they are real, filterless, Lucky Strikes.
      I mean hell, if you’re going to smoke….effing smoke!

      • mmm you are such a yummy mans man…
        oops. did I say that aloud?
        I so dont condone smoking cigarettes.
        mmmm cigarettes
        I want to see your shows!!
        I loved watching on youtube today.
        you rocking out in your hat…

  2. “and at the appointed time
    i will take my seat under a soot
    stained beam and fire up my
    soul – and a Lucky Strike.”

    I’m a little in love with that line.

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