Choking Titles

I’m dreaming kerouac and thompson-
On the Road-
Drug crazed, free and worn.
Bat County.
I’m dreaming snapping fingers
and revolution’s past-
I’m dreaming ginsberg and lennon-
Howling to Give Peace a Chance.
I’m dreaming Malcom X-
The Ballot or The Bullet-
Birmingham four- 1963.

I’m dreaming Hemingway and Steinbeck-
In the East of Eden The Sun Also Rises-
post-war2 cured the depression.
I’m dreaming Dylan and Joni-
Blood on the tracks with tangled Blue-
I’m humming Ballads Of A Thin Man
& 4 dead in Ohio,

Tasting rebellious riffs of Black Dogs
as Guitars Gently Weep.
Electric land of Experienced Ladies
Blue Sunday and Mercedes Benz.
Dreaming Golden Triangle-
Black salvation from hungry jungles.
I’m absorbing Weather Underground
Touching Leary with Subterranean Homesick Blues—
Diamonds & Rust in a Hazy Shade of Winter-
Walking Crossroads to find Muddy Waters
Finding Son House of Death Letters.

I am delirious from Coltrane-
Saxophones taking Giant Steps
Traveling Miles- Straight, No Chaser
As Thurgood celebrates with Brown
Toasting to Plessy-
The bar where Machines Kill Fascists
Woody confessing Cocaine Blues
While Strummer Smiles when The Clash
Between classes on 7th st Ave. A.
Declares They’re So bored with the U.S.A-
and Langston is telling me to Let America Be-
and I reply “It was never America to me.”

I’m laughing with Warhol as he slips
Factory Girls in my drink-
while I’m Waiting For The Man
To take me back to Jackson-
Where I can buy 16 Tons
With Cash from Tennesse Ford-
I’m persuading T. Williams
To let me into The Night of the Iguana
Where god is a senile delinquent
and A Barefoot Contessa
With green eyes is a mistress
To Sinatra’s 18 Karats of Manic Depression-

I am escorting Artie Shaw to the Duke of Ellington
Who told me ‘Artie’s the King of Clarinets’
he sent me to tell Billie to ‘Do Nothing ‘til you hear from me’
and Ms. Holiday said “Don’t Explain” as she ate “strange fruit’
I am walking past lynch mobs in Marion,
While white folk cheer for death-
there were supposed to be 3-
One escaped- 1930.

I’m dreaming of being time’s lover-
hips smashing together-
sticky words on skin-
delicious waterfalls of honest convictions,
enduring time’s malice intentions,
allowing myself to become a victim
a witness to some revolution
and the injustices that aren’t
comparable to what I see today…

And I don’t wanna wake-
I wanna stay locked inside this dream
where only time can take me
history breathing down my neck
Seeing the face that gave their lives
even if it was against their will-
Hearing loud brass sounds-
Soul pouring out of exhausted lungs-
tired hands, blistered fingers-
Vinyl records, static AM radios-

I don’t want to leave the only dream
That reminds me of the heroes
So many take for granted-
The ones whom aren’t remembered
for their real expressions-
aren’t appreciated enough-
Yes, I will take time’s monstrosities-
and walk the line-
waiting for the left to attack-
waiting for the right-

Sacrifice my soul & share my tears-
I don’t wanna wake from a dream
that allows me to embrace truth-
red, white & blue mean nothing here-
because the color of law
is the color of office-
much too often-
but the bars are packed with intelligence
and free jazz in full swing
scribbled philosophy on napkins
that never get thrown away.