American Son
—for Levon Helm
born in the rural fields
of the south,
with the music already
tattooed to your brain
you got
off that tractor
and on that guitar
nurturing
the rebellious
child that is
rock n roll
from
jungle
bush
beat down
club sessions
to hawks
floating
across
the
great
divide,
you stomped
those skins
into rhythmic gold
and sang your guts
out from
the best
seat in the house
you flew north
to woodshed
synthesizing
all you
learned
and
crafting
that
mysterious
mountain
music
that flows
from the
grooves
of many
discs
worldwide,
the pure
sound of
America
resonates
from
deep within
your blood
I can still hear
the back beat,
the harmonics
and
the
soul
of
your being
as
your
voice
slowly
drifts
from
this
world
**
the magic thread of universality
born in strands of music
hits every coast of this nation
and beyond,
the futility of denying that
comes from the soulless
black heart cynic
who cannot embrace
the heavy thud of
the mighty human
heart’s cries into
the sonic stratosphere,
laying bare
its most profound
dreams
and desires
**
Chicken n Waffles
simple pleasures
you can get
from Pacific
to Atlantic
the syrup
glazed over
the crusty
miniature
squares
across
the
fried
bird
puts
you
in
the
tasteful
delights
of
temporary
paradise
