another great adventurous poem.
i love it.
i think i have sailed on that ship.
it really is a saga.
worthy of music.
speaking of which
My fingers on the harp's gold strings are crusted with old blood
this line triggered old memories of performing live with a fresh wound on my hand and blood dripping down the strings.
in the many years i have toured, would you believe this has happened at least three times to my recollection.
once, some drunk snipped me with scissors moments before i had to hit the stage.
another time, i attempted an diving frisbee catch and landed on a barb wire fence at a remote outdoor show and had no time for hospital or stitches.
i just did the gig.
the third was the worst.
i fell off a roof only days before leaving on a cross canada tour, and had to play every night with a deep fresh 3 inch gash that ran across my left palm.
there were a lot of stitches in that one and they kept ripping as i kept playing.
eventually the cut got infected and the stitches rotted out, as we kept touring for weeks.
we never managed to get to a hospital, so we just videotaped the festering scabbing wound progress, until it finally closed up on its own.
it healed eventually, but the scar is hideous.
thankfully, there were no long term mobility issues and that hand operates at 100% efficiency.
the show must go on.