LATE IN THE EVENING
And I'm concerned, afraid, got the railroad crossing blues and the jazz that plays so low and desolation looms like the ghost of Christmas past/ And the band wraps up and it's time to go home but the blues is still crawling around inside my head like desolation and the lone watchman/on the peak is scrawling poems like rattlesnakes' bites/ And the blues plays low and sweet and melancholy/While the train whistle sounds so lonely in the deep night/ and this is what I do the jazz the blues drenched in sweat and staggering in the lonely night/ This is an intro into my world, my poems, my sound, culminating in a book called Beat, writings & Ramblings published by book fuel and on sale at amazon/ end of plug/ Late in the evening and thinking of Kerouac and Ginsberg
and wondering where I fit in/ but the train don't run here no more no more, the train don't run here no more/ The jazz played on and on and we partied and smoked and never looked back but that was yesterday and today I type and set loose words upon a page that no-one will read but the b-bop cats and jive masters/ always wondered what happens when you get to the bottom of this page/ be-bop be-bop and the forgotten words meshed into something altogether
different/ This is who I am
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