45 vineyard

One kicked door, in the following time two guitars,
trashed the comformity of a table without dust.
This strain was barely audible, the breaking of hell.
Scratched melodies to annoy the neigbours, louder
to bring back the feelings of grit inside the room.
Swept it under the floorboards to seep, next play
was the resonance of early morning.

Air guitar could capture the real thing, Les paul,
no less paul. Slid a finger along the frets, rubbed skin
over the memories that lead to age fifteen, black mood.
Always, the boredom of after the working day, smells
of school that had no music at all. Carried it home
in a head choked bus-stop jukebox, slipped in the coins
and a riff scuttled through glass, diesel and smoke.

Yesterday and tomorrow and Zeppelin, symbols,
a touch of exotic in this town. A place of old bread left
upon shelves to be trashed in bins, watched them decay.
Sliced in neat rows through the purple haze, one journey
on a route to finding something better. Jimmy played,
showed how easy it could be, let the black dog strain
on the bus to forget all scratched vinyl. I tamed wolf
under the weight, left the record on replay all night.