unless there's an alternative to:
the "claustrophobia"
of all, if any pronoun use...

i'm still having a hard-on
for the frank o'hara
poetry...

so much of poetry can't
be sung...
and to think:
rhyming will give you
no castrato's worth
of the harem of the choir,
or for that matter:
some... wisdom...

so...
  listening to marilyn manson's
song kill4me
while reading frank o'hara's
poem
for grace, after a party...

prior to?
listening to marilyn manson's
song the third day of a seven
day binge...
while reading frank o'hara's
poem
                music...

marilyn manson?
yeah... i stopped for a while
after the golden age of grotesque...
but came back...
thinking...
           not any particular
thought: intuitively... like:
     boyo got his groove back...

odd... i just bought a gramaphone
and...
   yes: classical music and jazz
on vinyl...
     but... my youtube player
is... scratching...
you know, when a vinyl ends...

i want to replay a song
on the digital window and...
and the PLAY button just rolls
and rolls... scratching the beginning...
but not playing the full
track on REPEAT...

at this point:
i'm way past paranoia...
i'm more inclined to think:
pink floyd song from
the album: the wall...
and the prime audience
of a.i.

back on the matter of music:
well...
if you're not going
to listen to either classical
music, or jazz...
and you still hold that:
lyrics aren't exactly poems,
and yes:
the poverty of lyrics
in modern music...
i'd agree...

   but read a poem while
you're at it...
i too thought poetry was
futile...
but then i rediscovered it:
drinking, listening to music
and...
   forget reading a paragraph
of Dickens...

caught unaware of "the other":
a poem like a photograph,
like: voyeurism celebrated -
a voyeurism of a monologue...
to capture:
a voyeurism of
the unaware narrator...

   frank o'hara is standing
before me, stark naked...
    fiddling the poetics of Eve
and that of Christ...
and then i go back
to the problem of having
acquired
a gramaphone and...
the youtube videos...
preventing me to quickly
rewind...
behaving like a vinyl
at the end... skipping...
skipping... tic-tac-toe...

yeah... that one glass shattering
moment of listening
to daniel redman
singing the poetry of
   walt whitman:
like he's at a *******
    bar mitzvah...

lyrics and: all that can be sung...
rhyme is rhythm...
but...
you read a poem...
and listen to a song...
bam...
            ooh black betty...
fits... and there is nothing
fiddly about it...

  even i decided to become
slave to the rhythm,
and began to groove...

hell... i get it...
people complain:
modern music suffers
from very primitive lyrics...
what... what?
you don't know how
to compensate that?
read a poem while
you're at it...

             oddly enough
frank o'hara poetry works
well with marilyn manson...
and i'm way past
the performance art
of speaking my own
*******'s worth on a backdrop
of jazz quintet...

it's enough watching
a robert pinsky performance
on stage...
with a jazz quintet...
              and another
to watch
   akua naru...
    how does it feel???

  well... i'm pretty sure the words
are scarce...
   and... yeah...
compare what?

point being?
god... robert pinsky has
a great voice...
just like gregory corso
had a great voice...

i almost forget that:
robert pinsky
is a person: who came late
to the Beatnik party...
that...
long gone are the days
of house parties,
jazz, recitation of poetry...
and everything
under the study of
lawrence lipton
(father of the guy who
does interviews for
inside the actors studio)
in the holy barbarians...

magic of a voice...
who? robert pinsky:
like... walking on fallen
autumn leaves...
but late to the Beatnik
poetry jazz fusion...

so... yeah...
modern lyrics are bad...
contraband them
with a poem,
listen to a song
and: anti-sense it
with a cognitive reading
of a poem...

my antithesis of
not going beyond smoking
marijuana...
drink...
   marilyn manson's kill4me
& frank o'hara's
     for grace, after a party...