I was privileged to be able to buy
my first electric on 48th street,
an Epiphone, black with flat-wounds & amp.
Then I swapped a bag of amphetamines
 
for a Rickenbacker with slanted frets.
Sacrificed a grand on a new Gibson.
Oh Where are the six strings of yesterday?
One walked at a party. Another flew
 
to California. The last one quit me
for a drummer I used to know. I went
down to the crossroads, held out my hand,
 
& waited for the touch, a new tuning
a bent note, a wicked chord, a pitch fork,
singing, timor mortis conturbat me.