Sunday, January 19, 2014

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.

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