I Come to Praise, Not to Bury, the Last of the Incroyables
To what is left of my 1970s garage band, now a lounge act
Chilling roots. A competent Bodhisattva,
you describe Adonis at fifty-something.
Total ice. Incredible. Only genius
covers the Eagles.
String guitar, a salient old perspective
claims the high road. Holy of Holies, hear me.
Count your minions. Carry the sonic proxy
out of our future.
Crank your manic destiny, Haines and Tug Boat.
Slack becomes your adamant Dylan medley.
Larry Fix, your name is an astral 6 train.
Hail to the Fender.
Solid ghost, pretend to remind the gathered
ancients, hairless, vague, of the Minor 7.
None shall rise as few would dispute your glory,
Surrey down. Reveal to a static world how
angels wear your Dorian cherry hi-tops.
Call the game, O Surrealistic Pillow.
Surfeit the fallen.
Recited on stage to diners at the Perryville Inn, Perryville, NJ, August 19, 2011