From the Fishouse

Sun Ra & His Year 2000 Myth Science Arkestra
at Grendel's Lair Cabaret, 1986

Skyrocketed—
My eyes dilate old
Copper pennies.
Effortlessly, I play
*
Manifesto of the One
Stringed Harp. Only
This time I'm washed
Ashore, ship-wrecked
*
In Birmingham.
My black porcelain
Fingers, my sole
Possession. So I
*
Hammer out
Equations for
A New Thing.
Ogommetelli,
*
Ovid & Homer
Behind me, I toss
Apple peelings in
The air & half-hear
*
Brush strokes, the up
Kick of autumn
Leaves, the Arkestra
Laying down for
*
New dimensions.
I could be at Berkeley
Teaching a course—
Fixin's: How to Dress
*
Myth or Generations:
Spaceships in Harlem.
Instead, vibes from Chi-
Town, must be Fletcher's
*
Big Band Music—oh,
My brother, the wind—
& know this life is
Only a circus. I'm
*
Brushed aside: a naif,
A charlatan, too avant
Garde. Satellite music for
A futuristic tent, says
*
One critic. Heartbreak
In outer space, says
Another,— lunar
Dust on the brain.
*
I head to NewYork.
NewYork loves
A spectacle: wet pain
Of cement, sweet
*
Scent of gulls swirling
Between skyscrapers
So tall, looks like war.
If what I'm told is true
*
Mars is dying, it's after
The end of the world.
So, here I am,
In Philadelphia,
*
Death's headquarters,
Here to save the cosmos,
Here to dance in a bed
Of living gravestones.