There is always some damn humming

No matter where I am

Haunting me, chasing me

Not liking it is nothing

Doesn’t even know me

But if it does the shit

Would hit the fan

Speculation is useless

Accept if it brings another line

Crooked or short

Long true or false

It’s possibly better than the alternative

Unless it’s alternative rock

Then the question mark

Can grow to an uncontrollable size

Pick-ups scraping vibrations

Off the walls

Mini skirts manipulated

Like the volume knobs up and down

Shaking at the over exposed knees

The long leg like guitar neck

Fingerings must be precise

Whose long hair is it anyway

Mostly the girls now

Cutaway to the sun filled beach

Naval men abound

Sailing blue waters surge

Cut into the pier as they slap

My face

I laugh and then I laugh more

I step away through the soft sand

Until I discover I am standing

Atop the ferocious Marshall stack

My naked feet feel the hum

All bodies on the beach

Lean into the hum

Now they are the haunted ones

I stand clear and drive

My bulldozer across the sagging

Power cord

I reach back towards the whammy bar

And pour myself a drink

 Give me time to think

Long ago and far away

My heart drew the perfect picture

It still hangs on my chest

At times I adjust it

Because sometimes it slants

Running liquid fuel into my brain

Running all night like

The overnight train

Non-stop I whistle

I arrive and I depart

I change and change again

The power cord hangs limp

The hum is history

I bite my lip

Because my gums are swollen

A drop of blood dances

On my tongue.

Have I cried the night away

Have I stayed too long

This point of view seems inappropriate

On the other hand

Either I’m right or I’m wrong.

 copyright 2011