SLAM!

 (This message was edited by poetchick on 08-02-05 @ 3:54 am EDT)

 (This message was edited by poetchick on 08-02-05 @ 3:42 am EDT)

The Man in Black

He summons me some nights,
The man in black with
Guitar slung carelessly on his back.
My ghost rider in the sky.
He takes his gun to town,
Ready and hard.
Removing every article of cotton
one piece at a time.

Or, if his wish be to stare me down,
To that ring of fire
Of loving, and laughter,
Then he talks of Ira Hayes,
John Henry's legendary hammer,
And Folsom Prison
How his daddy sang bass long ago.
Some nights I can’t believe
That he is merely flesh and blood.
Then somehow, I always awaken,
To Sunday morning
Coming down

I still miss someone.
If only I could recreate him,
One piece at a time.
Every wisp of dark hair,
the crooning of every velvet note.
And yet

I walk the line...



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