Hendrix
His Strat howls like a sick dog, his soul in flames,
his wah-wah mocks the warm night, ghosts dance over
the darkening fields; octaves flood the sea of strings -
healing and bringing together, a sea without water,
He will not be found again.
Peace, peace, he is not dead, he hath awakened to the
last major seventh, too cool to live forever.
poem by Leslie Philibert
Added by Poetry Lover
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