Tuesday, January 11, 2011

In Praise of godless Sorcerors

somebody must have hung out with
Charlie Parker on an off,
quiet night.
someone must have seen his beautiful,
bloated, wretched body
move about sloppily
with the magnetic grace of
drunken Hephaistus,
seen Bird when he felt
unwatched, and uncaged,
and wholly intoxicated.

they must have heard the beautiful words that came from his
keen alert mind.
He would have dazzled this person,
and they would have lapped up his company
like a draught of magic alcohol
they should never have
even approached drinking,
because that wine slept in the cellars
of the Gods,
waiting for a time when men could
handle it,
which still has not come.

i am listening to him now, on
the Strings records which
he reportedly said
were his best,
perhaps because they
enjoyed the possibility of big sales,
being on Verve records at his height,
especially with a little pushing
of his.
it is fine music, yes. but who the fuck
needs strings
when they are singing like God
through a bent and buttoncovered
piece of metal

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