It was in ’87 that I first met him, in a run down honky-tonk somewhere between Houston and Amarillo.
The Statler Brothers were on the jukebox
Singing something about “Flowers on the Wall”
He was holding court to a bunch of Manhattan Cowboy’s
And they invited me to join them all
So I pulled up a chair and listened to the tales from the Desperado

He talked about the Music scene today
And the great ones that were gone
He was eloquent in a drunken sort of way
He strummed an Invisible guitar
And hummed an Inaudible song

He told tales of heroin. Booze and living free
He spoke of redemption and the people he knew
Of Elvis,Guy Clark and the Joshua Tree
Spoke of the demons that Killed Gram parsons too

Round after Round of Lonestar went down
Cigarettes of both kinds were smoked
And the jukebox in the corner kept playing the good country rebel sound

He kept us enthralled with his words and his songs
And when the bartender called for last call
We all broke out in a Hillbilly Haiku, and thanked the tall stranger
who called himself Townes
As he stumbled out the door, he doffed his hat, and said
See you all around.

Many years later I thought of that evening when I heard of his plight
It was 2007 on a cold New Years night
When the newscaster told us that the great Townes Van Zandt
Had left us Tonight.
I played “Pancho and Lefty” and “Dead Flowers” over and over
And shed a happy Tear
Knowing that Townes had found his place to fall.