4950. LEAVE YOUR BOOKS AND COME WITH ME

LEAVE YOUR BOOKS 

AND COME WITH ME

They're burying people down at the swamp. Even in

Newark, I saw them carrying Baraka. No real reason 

at all, just some strange reverence for the dead, and the

equally strange prod of the living who want to be heard.

It's all crap, what the devil and no matter who may say.

-

I was born in an intense setting, though I lived in a mellow

time. Until they came at me with guns and butter anyway.

I didn't mind  -  since I knew their game was a Godless

one and they could all go to their Hell. Shouldering only

my own responsibility, I took up arms against bastards

and thieves. Now I wish I'd won; really so. And I'd 

stand with Baraka too. Leave your books, and come

with me. Let us enter this Paradise together.

-

Just look at this : my own time, with me. In a 17th

street loft, I laughed with Warhol and Reed, while

up at the library I read the other  -  Ishmael Reed.

Just as crazy and better nuts. 'Free-Lance Pallbearers'

and then 'Mumbo Jumbo' did it for me. Crazy

 happenstance, and anarchy. Leave your

books and come with me.