Here Come the Warm Beats
In One Twilight Note
Lester Young blew BOP out the box
the one room life aglow in the yellow glare
from inside his horn.
Brass Bop Reef flesh BRASSBOP reedflesh BOP
This would move the painter
borrowing now paying later
years in debt mortgage strokes
Over drawn over wrought past due
Ship never came in.
Hell ship never even found the dock.
Day late dollar short
The rent due pay up or shut….
What does the landlord care about art when his rent is up.
BRASSBOP Reed Flesh BOP
Your not a real artist are you?
Your not a real writer are you?
Your not a real musician are you?
Critics howled at the Painter….
Artist explain your ART.
Jackson say explain World War 2.
Jackson splatter vision in hues of infinite night
flipped upon a color wheel gone mad spinning out
of control with innovations and labor saving devices
and 2 Nukes in every pot.
Jackson stole Joseph’s COAT OF MANY COLORS
and had it cut down in a SPORT’S JACKET.
Jackson Pollock dancing chaos canvas
so perfect that every drunk with a paint brush and a beer
bottle imagined himself an equal.
O I CAN DO THAT
O I CAN DO THAT
O Hell a monkey can do that.
Pollock’s crazy murderous last frame behind the wheel
packing teenager lover on the shot gun side
abstracting each other all over the wrong side of the road on
the eastern tip of Long Island.
The inside of the car looked like one of his paintings.
CONVERGENCE. At last.
How hungry are you Charley?
The BABE RUTH OF JAZZ.
He hit them out
and he hit them out.
And he ate and drink everything in sight.
There was only one true blue Bird that Birdland would begot.
The sound he made in his cage.
The dark red shadows behind indigo brick bars
Who sat there?
Why did they sit they?
Who where they that knew the sweat riff of jazz and junk
Upon a BEAT WAVE they drowned in dust winking on Snake eyes.
Poor old drunk Jack on the Steve Allen show trying to
explain his brother Neil doing 3 to 5 in San Quentin
for two reefers.
Jack furious. Trying to tell them. There’s no such thing
as BEATNIKS. The word is BEATIFIC. Look it up.
You’ve got us all confused with SPUTNIK, you pack of
vampiric Madison Ave gray flannel whores.
Your image cash registers invented the bongo drum,
the snapping of the fingers, the little black berets
and ink spot pointy goatees. It never EXISTED.
IT WAS A BAD TV SHOW. It was friggin GILLIAN before
he discovered that idiot island nobody ever got off.
Now what to do? The heart of the old batting order
went done swinging.
Yes they did.
Pollock Parker Kerouac
And maybe before you decide to get drunk and play pretend hipster dress-up
why not find their ART and spend some time with
Do some research.
GO BACK AND LEARN SOMETHING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Find that recurring evil that keeps reinventing itself
swinging open the doors on the minds of each new generation
and gleefully announces:
“HIYA YOU”LL KNOW ME>>>>>”.
Why I’m Jack Ruby
Who shot Oswald
Who shot Kennedy
Who shot MARTIN LUTHER KING
Who had a double shot of Kennedy
Who shot Sadat
Who missed Ford.
Who didn’t even ever try Nixon
Who nicked Regan.
Who shoot out the lights of so many
bright young minds with booze, dope, lies, and despair.
Who named you Generation X
Who named you Generation Next
Why don’t you go have a Pepsi and large fries while
errant rouge killer asteroids rain down on earth like
intergalactic jiffy pop exploding on the Milking Way’s oven.
Who turned planetary extinction global apocalypse
into a “rilly” COOL marketing technique?
Now in the dust of the BEAT WAVE the young sense something
something so beat so beat into fragments.
It’s toolatetobebeat toolatetobehippies toolatetobepunks
Toolatetobeyuppies toolatetobewiggers toolatetobegenerationanythings
BUT IT’S NEVER TOO LATE
TO BE !
Stop the emulation of children emulating emulations
that were emulations of the dead who died while
emulating emulations of derivative permutations.
What they understood least
all the better
The BEAT WAVE upon the FLESH and BOP
Three dead beats to the measure.
From Attitude House 81/99