VII

Zeebie & I danced for the hunt, together,
in our old wild west stompin' grounds.

I gave him the name Strings Always Breaking.
No web cd hold him, no knot, no noose --

sooner or later, the strands always snapped
& he had to splice them.  It began w/ his guitar.

He was so intense he used to clear a crowded room
of women, one by one, just grinnin'.

He looked like the Cat In the Hat, Richard Braughtigan &
an El Greco Christ painting rolled into one,

& came on hard & fast like Moses callin'
square dances at the fall of the Alamo.

The carousing ebullience of Zen lunacy was our trademark
& our trade, roughhouse roshis playing pirate to the crowd.

"I'm lean & I'm wiry & I'm hungrier than you."
We stalked the sacred marriage among innocents.

We played a skeery, mean street blues in abandoned
acoustic hotspots, stopping only when the cops complained.

By then I was livin' where I stood & likin' it,
Callin' the whole world my home.