b.z. niditch | love lyrics


That record tract
of Coltrane and Davis
from love lyrics
kept me from
going over the edge
from all my books
of knowledge I stored
up in my skull inside,
all the Latin declensions
accorded me in Manhattan
the black and white intervals
on the piano inventions
I passed with flying colors,
with my German and French
on every schools’ back bench,
defying all conventions,
not by reading
all those “Sorrows
of young Werther”
or drinking from Mauriac’s
cup of unction,
nor by spoon feeding
on Sartre’s novels
in existential betrayal,
the flavored and favored
holy grail
of deconstruction
did not make me
any more to function,
it took the irony
of the funky Blues
to free me up
from any last sup,
playing on ivory
in my own tower,
captivating sounds
beyond any
junkies’ rounds
in a life time
of the bourgeoisie’s crime,
with my sax arrangement
on high bars of words
an outlaw poet and critic
among the gentry
with love’s entertainment
from instant horns
of prophetic plenty.

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