twenty-gauge blues in poetry

we think our world ruled by destiny
worship a god who got hung on a tree
everyone goes to nashville
with a banjo on their knee
then come back in a year or three

elliott smith was murdered
in his apartment
by his junk dealer
or an old girlfriend
or someone who’s both
no mutual exclusivity
no one said that life was free
he took more stab wounds
than the mob gave julius caesar
but not enough hesitation marks
to make the case clear
even if you want to die
your reflexes might not agree
sort of like Jesus on a tree

kurt cobain five foot nine
with a six foot gun
in working order built
by union hands at Remington
two towns over in ilion
was he betrayed?
maybe one or two people might know
unless kurt could shoot with his toes

we think our world ruled by famous gods
geniuses who went and beat the long odds
but when its us on the bus
to New York or L.A.
we’re sure its our lucky day
maybe it is
our luck that we were never famous
no hangers-on to kill us
like our god’s old roadie Judas

Last updated March 20, 2016