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Poem

was the whiskey and the jazz playing
On too many black nights with too
Many lonely women and not a poem
Between them

How many times can you run
From the shadow of the voices that
Surround you

Beating like drums in the darkness
Tasting more of your flesh each time
Not leaving enough for a man to breathe
No way for a man to live 

How could the hep-cat jive survive
When my voice can only spit silence
Wasn't a dream left to filter thru
The night worn inside and out and

Bled dry a bottle singing the page blank and life in the hands of
the haves laughing at the broken shadows of the have-nots

There was a club on 34th and Second Ave where the jazzman
swung
All night long beat poets recited Tuesdays' nights and Jack was
always drunk in the third booth

Scrawling poems on paper bags and notebooks

Taking life hard on the chin and after a while not fighting back
anymore

Ain't the road thzt donev Jack in

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