The Ghost of Phil Ochs
I think of Phil Ochs
staring down America
holding a promise
it never kept
I pick up a guitar
I hear someone else
into these chords
as if they could help
how short is a lifespan
what can be done with it
I’ve never felt god the cemetery didn’t help
neither did the ritual trip and other circumstances
when I play guitars when I sing to myself
ghosts aren’t that far something tries to help
new york city keeps changing
new york city might care
rubbing money in faces
a stranger hands me a kleenex
feeling the world
done up in plastic
vomiting on the stairs
keeping it moving with ourselves
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