How I Play Guitar

Lost I struggle through to Find a weary gin Her taste, her fumes and I Just love it at the bottom Smoky leaves Hummin’ in the mind – Well worn With well-worn strings I change Loosen under Coffee-black And after noon I come to terms with life In quaint ephemera – Never did I find the now –   The tone-wood structure Greets me in the corner She sits upon the stand Like the ever-patient mutt Waits for dinner Anti-war folk-blues Call the palate Rasping in the grey creams That constitute our Smokey haze I lift her Love the feel She slots in hands gentle-rough Antiphony breaching harmony That balances out the off-key Rough-shod blues And on, I take the chord Growl the feel Age of nothing Takes control And all I do is I take the strain Finger harshly Under pain Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2014