Which take is this
Sweet Brother Beat-Bop Daddy K?

Listen, kid, the first take
is the only take:
you dig deep like skiddly-wee-doo-boy
then shut your stinkin' face.

Which take is this
Sweet Brother Beat-Bop Daddy K?

You get the one shot baby,
you dig deep or you sink deeper.

I write this life
the way I spurt my soul
in jazz-riff streams
across the condomless page
praying Charlie Parker
will blow for me
a higher range of esthetics
redefining and redesigning
everything I never knew
about God-as-me within this world
and who knows how much
we do not know about Love
or lovelessness? Can you spit it
supremely
through saxophone genius
like dark mystic birds
Coltrane and Charlie?

I place my best feet
upon good green earth
running from one session of hell
in America to another
small-town boy French-Canadian sperm
crossing the goal line
straight into the mine fields
of World War II, my sanity
like a fish with hooks
in both eyes, my hunger
like an engine
gulping highways and speed.

Between poetry
and jack-rabbit orgasms
fired below the belts
of women and men
your moon burned bright
black and blue inside and out
alcohol flipping you foul
like a 3 cent whore
bought and paid for
by mother dear's indulgence.
Ginsburg wore the crown
hammered out of your passion,
Burroughs claimed the throne
carved from your skull,
and Neal never got
what Neal wanted bad
and you maybe yeah you needed much much more.

I place my fingers
upon these keys
typing 2,000 dreams per minute
and naked of spirit
dance forth my cosmic vortex
upon this crucifix called language
I am not so calm as Christ
still I dig his style
in ways infinite and bloodless.

"What can a man do for Love?" moaned Lucien
over your grief-rotted corpse.
He thought the answer complex,
it is simple: a man can & should
do everything for love
neither holds nor poles barred.

I place my body
beside these bodies
protean and afraid and much-like flame
I come to you now
full of my man-self
but tomorrow, perhaps, not so hard
somewhat female in ways
or maybe as child
weeping bids for heaven,
what I most want
is to warm your spirit
with this sun rising wild
inside my spirit.

Holy rarely is as holy does
Sweet Brother Beat-Bop Daddy K,
whether you suck your pain
from the bottle or a body
makes little difference,
it's what you choose to swallow
that grants or denies
the good bliss of Buddha
shouting hallelujah through your veins.

Which take is this
Sweet Brother Beat-Bop Daddy K?

Listen, kid, give me grace
or give me death.
I will not stay here Gerardless
Buddhaless and Neal-gone-too.
My Love speaks every name
under every star shining
yet who suckles my heart
with mouth overflowing
Mexico-city sundown marijuana blues
(Stella, is that you?)
my lover and I stoned equally
on sorrow and each other's tongue.

Holy rarely is as holy does
Sweet Brother Beat-Bop Daddy K,
whether you suck your pain
from the bottle or a body
makes little difference,
it's what you choose to swallow
that grants or denies
the good bliss
of a good Buddha
shouting glory-be-to-God through your veins.  

by Aberjhani
(from Visions of a Skylark Dressed in Black)