THE APPLE OF DISCHORD

 

hippies

       –for Crazy Horse, the band, and the boys

 

boom, boom, baby

boom, boom

baby boom, out go the lights

’cause tonight’s the night

your rollin’ the apple

your stirrin’ the pot

sha-boom, boom-boom

give us all you got

this one goes out to all of you

old yeah-yeah gray-hairs

who grew up in rock and roll

wanted to go to that mansion

up the hill or across the tracks

to austin’s practice shed

off the back wall of his garage

to hang out in the sound

to sing along

to be found with the band

hanging on

to that back beat, ride

the slide, the bottleneck

the wah-wah bar, dig on that

fray-cornered music man amp

your foxy dark side of

the stairway to fire

that groovy vox-ified

paranoid garage band

and roll, roll on, roll into

another one, smokin’ deep

purple traffic on the water

pipe, done . . . cough

done, done, done . . . done-done, d-done

roll another one, ride

your creamy satanic majesty

a three chord cranial lift

to the arena of pounding drums

where all you needed was love

and thumping bass notes thumbed

to dance and fly around

the fire chasing sparks chasing

stars beyond tree shadow

silhouettes, feet stomping, hands

clapping, the sticks and guitar

picks pulling you along

into sound forming words

that lose their meaning

to gain their heart, this part

that starts in the vibe

in the groove that wants to go

and go, roll on and on

keep rockin’ the snow

off that old garage

and roll your boom-boom

baby into a song

that will never be played

the same way again in bleeding

raw fingered stumble and sting

a squealing pig on ice

bah-duh-boom

bah-duh-bing

bing, bing, bing,

sweet brown-eyed girls

light those things, those big

cigars, panatellas, pass that sweet

cherry wine, let your hair down

smell her collar and neck

lick that salty sweat and nose

that musk-oily scent, her

hairy fairy-moans, the zeppelin burns

inside that two-story shack

you called the peter-eater

son, you were ruined for good

like many a dope-boy

driven mad and hard as

rock and roll, it was that first

best place always and forever

till a few years later when

you found yourself

singing those obscure verses

of amazing grace

at funerals for the ones

damaged and done

by too much silly-assed unending fun

so you amped up on the teary blues

got down on the slow notes

in the beat dirge of mourn

before you picked it up

again and sang it, wang it

flang it high past the sun

boogie fly celebrations

skin climbing to air

closed your eyes to soar

rode the draft back down

blew the doors off your dream

that flow of electric tones

and crackling voices that scrape

the throat glottal, the show

a gravelly, noise-filled

broken blind hole, the void

existing outside beyond

the flames, inside, closer to

the source, the bass line

in bone cage, the one

everyone can play, then

add a creepy-crawling guitar

haunt it up, rev it wild

you can’t fuck this up

make it run, make it slide

prance and scream

then glide through the night

stars winking like lit cigarette tips

when you light the fuse

watch it quietly sparkle-glow

then hit that number

to erupt in meteor tails

hendrix’s trails, blue stars

on tattered red stripes

grandiose explosions, machine gun

riffs searching for more sky

what they do not know and cannot

find, find you swirling, head banging

in the strobe’s flash, kissed

by the vision of drum sticks

hatcheting the dark

experience, that effort

to slash and play

what we know not, who we are

is what we say and all

we want to be

is to be here with the band

forever on stage

rocking in the back or rolling

in the front of the shed

maybe on the floor with her

screaming for more of

the apple of dischord

your hometown garage band

wired crazy as the horse

with no name, homegrown

high in the rockin’

mountains of the west

plugged in

and blown away

 

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