Distortion peddle baby 
and un-learning how to play a guitar--

I was born in the crack of a distortion peddle--
and they had to pull
bar chords out of my hair-- capo
on my neck-- this acoustic noose-- 
and I spoke
in the flower bud language of Sex Pistols
My second name is Eleanor Rigby 
and I could mosh-pit before I could walk.
The first time I held my father's
black and white Richenbacker the
strap bent my shoulders and she told
me to plug her in so she could scream--
but I played her on tin-string mute--
and she cried quiet and kissed my
finger tips with red lines trying
to bud into callouses.
I performed in a John Lennon t-shirt
that came to my knees-- hair wet from 
the bath tub standing on the stage
of my parent's king sized bed--
I taught her chords she didn't know
her frets could hold and there's nothing heavier
than your father's electric guitar
on your shoulders-- carry me lithium cross-- 
I playing with plastic ponies 
from bar stools and drinking sprite
from Manhattan glasses-- I told
the bar tender-- On the Rocks
when I just wanted to munch on ice and
pretzels
I watched my father yank words
from her mouth-- braced for the
for snap of the distortion peddle--
my voice-- my gravel throat-- 
her voice--
I was raised a Creep
A weirdo 
A Day Tripper through the 
fret boards on the railroad that howled
past our house every night like
the ghost of guitars my father sold
to make more spaces on the walls
for his children to mark their heights 
--our walls were his fret boards--
stretched our house taller with his
callous fingers--
I was always too small for an electric guitar
and always too nervous to let her play me--
I was trapped capo-neck child--
umbilical silver string cutting
my fingers red-red-red lines
--rose callous and Sex Pistol--
and Gows don't read music they
scream it--but guitars have always
bent me over the ledge of another
mattress stage-- I made her sing for
other boys-- made promises on 
her railroad tracks-- I made
her sing love I never knew and
capo strangled her mouth-- and
now all I can say is I'm sorry
and I left my plastic ponies on
the bar stools-- tangled
myself in guitar straps and pretzel
legs and rose callous kiss
my fret board--
I became the abuser-- the
reason why she slammed feet
on distortion peddles-- I have
been a terrible lover of these
guitars who muted herself to 
teach me how to hold something heavy--
She stretched and un-untuned each string
under the pressure of my grip
that loosened and loosened until
until she shed capos and rusted her
hair-- snapped in the percussion of a bar-chord--
Shaved her strings naked for me
and wrapped the strap around my legs
to make stay--
she said
Distortion peddle baby 
why don't you play me play me play me
You were Sex Pistol
You were Eleanor Rigby
You were meant for mattress stages
and somehow you unlearned loving me
And I coughed up the bar chords--
cut capo around my neck--
I told her I should have warned her
I was a fickle fret-board lover
and that guitars were always too
heavy for me--
I howled like the ghost train--
-- sat naked without strings-- 
 kiss me rose callous--
sing me scream.