Tism You're A Long Way From Home, Pt. 2
From the guitar in his hands
A nightmarish C chord struggles
then dies at birth
Roadies trained for years in loyal rescue
Stand arms crossed side of stage
like paramedics unmoved by misery
His 90 words per minute fingers try again
Only the loudness of the PA
prevents him hearing the dull during
that began after the first song
Beyond the stage lights
The darkness seems ready
to throw itself forward and smother him
This stage is the barron hill
upon which ancient mothers left children to die
The journalist hitches the guitar strap upon his shoulder
For year now his critical mastery of the rock genre
Has fulled prose of unrelenting acuteness
Yet who would have thought these instruments would be so heavy
Looks in confused despair at the six strings
Longing for the safe complexity of
his computer monitor and a qwerty keyboard
At last a justified arc of glass and beer
Swings in it's gleeful parabola toweards his head
Later in hospital he seems to remember
sensing the stubby's weight before it
broke upon the finally explained senesbilities of his skin
"You're a long way from home, Journo boy"
