Sufi Style
delicious
nutritious
archives
sitting on a bench in union square
he strums, and he strums
on his old guitar
a melody symbolic of his own madness
each string flowing freely in the air
like the mane of a wild stallion
yearning to be struck again
by the same old bottle cap
long displaced from neck
an infernal twang to passerbys
who'd rather deny
than acknowledge
it's music all the same
guitaro, my friend
it's still music to me
strum on, strum on.