PROWRITER'S PAGE
COFFEE HOUSE BLUES
I am
in the A.M.
Am I ?
I think I am!
It is A.M.
in the coffee house
down on MacDougal
down the stairs
behind closed doors
another world
enclosed
close quarters
your last nickel and dime
exchanged
for a last
cup of Joe.
It is a brownstone.
Broken bricks
enclose
broken lives
Huh, what a joke,
put in your sorry souls
by Corporate Kings,
fat ugly stodgy
stogy smoking
stupid law making
stupid law breaking
sexually perverted
slimy slobs
who make sick sauce
out of us peons,
and then pee on us
while laughing
all the way
to the Big Brother bank,
banking our dreams
with their sleazy smiles
and their filthy
pee green
greedy hands.
Under these bricks
and slabs
of false man-made
micro-worlds
of flowing java rivers,
I feel more real
in the A.M. night
than in the daylight pace
of the city rat race
to pay my soul
to the corporate face.
I am
in the A.M.
at 2 in the A.M.,
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broken hearts
broken promises
broken dishes
broken pockets
with broken holes.
We are in a hole,
a hole in the ground
tonight,
am, in the A.M.
Tonight A.M.
I am more am now
than ever,
though surrounded
by sterile pealing
cement walls
man-made,
with no heart
no soul
no dream of what results.
Just slabbed together
by ignorant slobs
working
to make a living
in this hellhole of a city
they call New York,
the center of the world
the center of the Universe
the Big Apple
the big appeal
the big pile
of shit and piss,
the place of dreams
the life force of hope.
when phony beats
have left
with their
pick up whores
for the night.
I am
more real
more soul
more me
more feel
more
more am
in the A.M.
The remains
of the night
are here,
the real Beats,
to beat their rhythm,
in drums
and flutes
and strings
and words,
the real words,
the words of life,
of the real life.
These are my brothers,
the ones that remain
at 2 A.M.
we are
we am
we jell
we mell
we mix
we become conscious,
super conscious.
We are One.
We won
the rubber duck
of life and soul.
We are the Know Ones.
We are No One,
the ones
who know,
know the Truth
know our souls
our real self
the self of fools
who fool ourselves.
No.
We know
we are nowhere
aware
Where?
Where?
here
Here?
What do I do here?
What do I hear?
here
Hear?
Hear the man up there?
Up Where?
Up in the Universe?
Up on the stage
in the coffee house
exposing himself,
his heart
his soul
to you
to me.
It is real.
Is it real?
It is fine.
It is final.
We are real.
We are oh is fine.
We are oh so final.
