my trouble is too many stars in the heart
I woke up today in a moody blue kind of mood
perfect for painting moody kinds of blues
you must wake from death to return to life
wisdom does not float in with the morning tide
I had a mountain of love and nowhere to put it
peace is always far off — a far-off thunderstorm, a far-off train horn, always far-off
I stayed up all night writing, slept for a couple of hours
then got up and wrote some more
have written a lot of good poetry listening to good jazz
wonder if anybody ever wrote good jazz listening to good poetry?
maybe in some village apartment on a sultry night
with the cracked window cracked
somebody reading some beat poetry was inspiring some jazz player
had a friend and a friend of a friend drop by late
the friend of a friend entertained us with wild tales
that sounded too unbelievable to be true, probably because they weren’t
but he was one of those people that loved to entertain with his bs stories
thought he was doing you a favor///really annoying really
was glad when they shoved off
he should have been keel hauled
he probably thought he made my day with his yarns
he didn’t...
