Harry Edgar Palacio

To all the syd Barrett’s in the world that wrestle a tiger, brutalized maw, tendons and sinews of the mind bearing nothing but fruit… how can we the people of the field not eat? The red scarlet face of fame eats with us, bellowing with the pride of gods gifts like a spasm echoing, the dark Lilith of the moon that haunts me, illustrious and beautiful, black like a charred girl winnowing. The hunger of fires and ripeness. I sat under a banyan tree and sought you, your hen pecking but I the majestic rooster, the god man and I couldn’t bow because I’d forgot how, those who worship would in turn be worshipped and I saw you humble before the throng of guitars and whelps of fire tendrils, I woke up and you were gone home Syd and I couldn’t help but feel relieved that you finally found peace where only calamity was unearthed… I hear your voice and thunder struck the lintel. Only the first born of rock n roll were taken, first Jimi Hendrix then Janis Joplin then Syd Barret then Kurtd cobain