They sing, they all sing.
The choir sang
and the angels
made a crowd
to hear mortals
moan
All the sadness
and hope in this room
could sink battleships
you can tell the strong
from the weak
its in there song
and hidden behind the eye’s
and its hard to see
in the dim light
jazz cafe
My table, where i sat
was united cultures
of friendship
and a trinity
is a tripod
and an easier
leg to stand on
then one’s own
My head was pounding
and I left my body
and hid in the refined
confinement
that happens
when i have a headache
every day since i was seven
and thats not the pain
my people have felt
but my own
and very personal
imagine being a child
and trying to claw your eyes out
or asking your parents
to do it for you
throwing up
was sweet relief
and not the point
of defeat where
I once was drunk
taking hang overs
like heart aches
and moving on
what the Jazz Cafe
My head aches
and my parents
and even this poem
are yearning for
is a forgone conclusion
where there is none
and thats Why life is obscure
and you feel perturbed
when you have a lot to teach
but even more to learn
I lean left on an oreo
and right on a twinkie
and these junk foods
hold more substance
than a fancy meal
served by a snooty waiter
it has more soul
than stolen rock and roll
I have always made new friends
and lost touch with old ones
but we are all brothers
and sisters
How sweet freedom can be
when we allow ourselves to be free
how easy love is
when one drops there heart
dusts it off and runs full speed
into the daydreams
moving at such a high velocity
that it becomes reality
and we are all smiles
and thanks
The choir sings
there sweet escape
giving even more
than what they take.
