by Paul Wilner

(For Peter Greenbaum, 1946-2020) The British rocker died for our sins, of course, right on time. No ancient mariner, he ate some acid  from that smug asshole Owsley Stanley, who always had the good stuff, but  didn’t know what to do  with it, or himself. Of  course, he was a legend, like Liberty Valance, or Sportin’ Life. Lonely kid In his basement practicing  his ax. The ax fell, a long  time ago, the shock of  recognition administered  by all-too-ready mental health “professionals.” Clapton is God, the poster  said, as another child fell out a window. He was  fleet of foot, […]

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