mexico city blues

[Split]

[blues intensifies]

clothbound notebooks opened. Robert Johnson
didn't note the jots in- stitched time. jogging mountains
it's still there. true Paradise, Sal. you couldn't picture,
paint, or scribble air inside my mestizo Santa Misirlou

sitting sullen, mexico city simmers blue.
sambuca= mean drunk to you. the love i mean
seductive sexist. autistic fucking Buddy Holly resemblance
but instead i grooves it, steppin through this
harmonic bible of dharma-buddhists.

mood is often tone deaf. cigarette spit,
crisply cogent. nope, it's..
sitting slack. gulping flask. fixing to be feeling razzed.
Whitman. Pullman cabs. waltz n jazz, volley of Misty Blue-
tenor, drawling sax. San Francisco valley ballyhoo
who blast different slit-throat trolley tunes.

oye como escito, y servesa, la necesito..
porque alegra ha me despedida: cuando
ella me da su vida. me encante mi mes contiga,
pero estoy aqui y a ti acá. blanca camisa en la cama madera.
es vida, y sera como esta. aun hablamos en la musica.
que lastima de corazon.

the moon is luminously bright.
truly, her eyes are nice. my direction. i'm crusing by, touching
horizon ice- the compass, Rose. tonight is diamond dosed.
then finding life is just another sunken, lump of coal.
time.
she measured it in sloppy, morning dew. record skips.
couple sips of coffee boost. thirty of, a nothing night with you.

too noir for Kerouac.
a different age. it was greater grace then any song I blare or blast
and thinner than the coarsest page, passage filled with her barefoot pawprints, i caught her after,
kissing honest tunes in her barest stockings, intoxicated, lost in the missing chapter of our jaded absolute


not based on a true story
excuse my rusty, broken, poetically licensed spanish. feed returned