Thursday, August 20, 2015

From the vaults, revised

The Rock And Roll Memoir I Want To Read

It was too damn loud
I never liked Bo Bo
our first drummer
was he the third?
The riffs?  Stolen.
Lyrics written
by a callow youth
still torment me
to this day like                                               a


                            a                            r
                                 o       f
                                    e     t
My obituary
a bit of boilerplate
written by interns
at Rolling Stone
lays waiting
for the call.

I don’t remember
      in any particular

     the origin
                                                           of the band name
                     the outcomes  
                                                             the lawsuits

                                            what happened
           in Houston

                        penning “Love Carburetor”
                                                                                         on the bare


                                   of a groupie named Skyyy


                    a song cycle

                                           about the Laps                       riding 

                                                       in ambulances



                        Bill Graham

on the sidewalk
                                                               in front of

                                                  the Fillmore                                 


If you say
we played Farm Aid
twice, well
I guess you would know.

I can’t piss
standing up
or hear a word
you’re saying
and my doctor says
we must get
a handle on my liver
before we think
about replacing my
heart and lungs.

But I’m booked
to a ten night stand
at the Beacon
with the New York Philharmonic
performing our first album
in its entirety
with our original bassist Ian
somebody or other
plus interviews
on Fresh Air and Morning Joe
to promote a concert
film by Jim Jarmusch. 

Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Lo, Vineland

A Saga of Circumnavigation

In our Viking long boat on Belle Isles lee side
emerged from the Canadian Mist
to pillage outdoor jazz at the Roberts Hotel
strike fear into the hearts of diners
on the terrace of the Rattlesnake Club
coxswain berserk in the stern
urges us on in hoarse Old Norse.

But this goat head skull cap keeps
inching down with every stroke to rest
on the bridge of my nose plus
I’m dying to let go
the oar to get at the itch
between my shoulder blades
cursing Odin these prickly marten pelts.

Yet, once we round the point off Scott Fountain
To fight the current and take a moment
to wonder what the Canadians
off to port are having for dinner
the Algoma Equinox loaded with grain
down bound for Baie Comeau
shoulders us aside, a mere water strider.