A Beautiful Trip

By the time I got to Woodstock
I had witnessed
The House of a rising Son
At the crossroads, down
In the delta of a Mississippi
Still burning. Then,
Waded my way up Ol’ Man River
To Chicago & conjured cosmic reign
Till dawn rode the blue train, alongside

Howlin’ Wolf, Willie Dixon
& of course Muddy Waters,
Inventor & epitome
Of a down home blue electricity
Often heard, but
Seldom seen, until the coming
Of Jimi on the last
Of those 3 days of peace & music
Where he bled light & shed sound
On his Experience, in a technicolor
Vision of purple amazement.
By the time I got to Woodstock

Needless to say it was the final day
Of a beautiful trip
To utopia laced with euphoria…
& when he came out
There was no “excuse me”
Necessary, because I
Was already there with him
Kissing the sky.
From the very first riff
Of his star-spangled rendition
Of Francis Scott (in a distorted) Key
I rode higher than the highest
High on the rays of the sunship
Horizon, absorbing
The spectrum of humanity
All around me. Wishfully,
Thinking that Jim Morrison
Just might walk on stage,
Smile at Jimi & segueway
Into “this is the end, my
Beautiful friend…”
(but destiny just wouldn’t let it happen).


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