Surface Tension

Any sexual dynamic sets a certain tension. I noticed it twice at the pub this week, two couples that couldn't keep their hands off each other. Then felt it last night. I lightly touched her back, to steer her in a certain direction, and I got an electrical pulse through my fingertips. A cluster of chords. Captain, my captain, I try to do it right. She looked back over her shoulder, one of those moments, said she didn't know anything about me. I said that was probably for the best. Doctor John slurring his words. We all need someone to lean on. You can rest your weary head on me. It's almost like having it all. BB King, after the move to Chicago. Anything in G. Real players are like that, they specify a key. Broke down palace, a Dead song, Hunter/Gracia, rock my soul. Listen to the river sing sweet song, to rock my soul. Anything I have to offer is old and broken. I'd be a sorry mate, because I'm so used to solitude, it defines my space. On the other hand, like a Chinese painting, reality emerges. Weep no more today. Two birds. The old Kentucky home far away. Miles and miles between us. The place where I trace my bloodline to, said. Get behind the mule and plow. Keep your hand on that plow and hold on. Any one of those house musicians at Muscle Shoals could rock your soul. You can't lose what you never had. I nod off, but someone hanging out on extreme guitar, wakes me. I left the radio on; any more I can't remember anything. It's not a dream. Almost has to be Dicky B playing guitar, no one else plays that way. Train off in the distance. Inside your head. Jockey about. Three crows, it's not brain surgery. The same situation. Rock yourself to sleep.