“Austin City Limits” is reprising
his ’79 performance: smoking
between two gas pumps, his hoarse voice wheezing
of Burma Shave, rhythmic throat near choking
as Romeo’s bleeding. ’79 –
the year I left LR for NYC.
So self-centered, I’d not heard his divine
dissolutions till Joanne – shocked – tossed me
his “best” album, demanding I listen.
“Wasted and wounded, it ain’t what the moon did…”
All things (I soon learned) began to change then.
Outside my writing room windows, muted
autos whisk past under amber street lights
like cats’ eyes – everything prowling the night.
Roger Armbrust
December 19, 2015
