(Is this place at your command?)

Lying on the living room floor  listening to Neil Young and Crazy Horse Live at the Fillmore East (1970), a set with Down by the River (this much madness is too much sorrow) and Cowgirl in the Sand is a way to escape the heat of the kitchen. On my stomach, writing these words in my notebook, with my glasses set on the hardwood floor in front of me. The nose pieces are busted and the lenses got completely fucked up last summer when I wiped the grit with my bike jersey. (Down by the river, I shot my baby.) Sundays can be the best, or worst, if you let ’em.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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