Asheville was nice.
Don’t know what happened back there.
How I fell how far. How down. Out of tune.
None of the long lines were like that. The mansion’s walls. The artilla.
They were a blast, there were hairy armpit girls / in the coffee shops
they knew everything about guitar and they played awfully well
with their colorful dreads / banging their heads.
The house was ecstatic, the grass smooth
as the underground bowling alley.
We emptied the pool and floated on our backs waiting for sundown.
& that concert, I remembered all the words for once.
I held my lighter like the rest and I learned a few new songs.
It must have been hard the next day /
rummaging around the old bookshops, nearly caught in the rain /
I got hooked on too many old things.
From then on the wine was bitter, never sweet.
I painted a nude with my eyes and told you too many lies.