That reverb tank suspended from
sci-fi cables
Rattling, Splashing, Blasting,
Exploding
The golden worn glitter and American
flag
The sword of a southern California
guitar man
That resplendent wall of sparkling
grille cloth
Shimmering like the Pacific in the blazing sun
Heat waves, tidal waves or lasers
of sound
Soaring decibels that shaped me
And I sat in my room at 14 and tried
to figure out
Your Lebanese harmonic minor scale reverb drenched
Like a Bengal tiger on the prowl and
onstage with me
Ever since
Skulls, crossbones, motorbikes,
leather jackets
Symbols of the soundtrack that
started on the 101
Caricatures that come alive in our
imaginations
Every time your records are on
Your reverb splash will send
concentric circles of sound
From the far reaches of space to Davy
Jones’s Locker
They will ricochet like gun fire at
high noon and return
Ghostly echoes in the sky
