Jimi Hendrix Postcard
from Looking for The Cantos in Texas
Great afro, huge hands, guitarus:
mountains here and there from hardwood
and devil’s dust. You strung other things—
colors thumb-picked from a dragonfly’s
blink. Moons cemented in the sunk of a girl’s
Sunday dreams. Only on Monday. Free-falling
from planes grabbing fistfuls of air must
have done something. Or maybe it was the army
greens and that Band of Gypsies. How else could
you peel the sea with a bell-bottom hootenanny?
Or make a jellyfish and sea star scrap, noses
wide open? Brine and sand, stereophonic time.
Strings sounding like a woman waking up.
Strungs sounding like she still wished for sleep.
Poem, copyright © 2005 by Adrian Matejka
Appearing on From the Fishouse with permission
Audio file, copyright © 2005, From the Fishouse