the day John died I dined
on a pint of O'hara's
shouldered my Strat
drove down
the dull steel
tape canal
to Sound City
where though I feel
the music in my bones
I can't pick out a single tune
he'd slap looped
strut and pranced
in buccaneer loons
a deep wail syllable drawn
and sheered from
his hurt heart's clutter
conjured me up
a djin on the floor
in the huge house
on the Dover Road
with the gonged and the bonged
the fiercely in love with love
we drank off the swaying sadness
slept away the '70s blues
tonight they surge and waft back in
as Lulin glows green in Libra
and silently sheds
its tail

Milan         February 2009