Rave On
Some ebbed memories slipped beneath life’s waves,
but reason intact, I nudge our talk now
to revisit a séance in those days
retrieved from my neural scrapbook somehow.
Hectic hours of music’s youthful fervour
left behind in the wide Sargasso Sea
of then, my brother’s tone drops, a murmur
in awe of the spirit world’s beliefs he
suspects closing in on what he has wrought.
He names rock stars dead at the height of fame,
more his idols than mine, glory cut short.
I saw, see, the occult as a daft game,
glass skating that board, a mad tombola
amped by a revered dead rock’n’roller.