Crag: one from the archives, but electric not acoustic
Arriving home, I have to force
my way through the noise of a
thousand r & b records. So many
hit parades -- extreme amplification,
distorted voices; & all full of
an overt sexuality that insinuates
itself into every pore of this poor
old house. I am not surprised
to find guitars reclining in my
best chairs & my bourbon almost
drunk. Or when I see that the
ashtrays are full of broken plastic picks.
But in the bedroom I feel your guitar
hips. & become afraid. & slightly later,
the cord that leads from the wallplug
to your amplifier / strangles me.
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