Last night i dreamt that i was you. i was dressed all in
black with dark glasses and attitude.
Such a pose i could simply not hold through days in a
northern town that i had once called a home.
Your studies for fringe new york streets... i was reading
the pavement in every work you would speak.
To a "brownstone up three flights of stairs" and it's
on...
Buying drinks for the poets upstate, this southern
corrupting towed you down the interstate,
And they all said that you were the king of gloomy
disruption that surfaced when you would speak.
This town simply cannot compete so i'm packing my Bullets
and Silverstones
And heading east to a "brownstone up three flights of
stairs" and it's on...
If i could have (had) my way this year would bridge '66
(again?)
Trust fund hipsters were casing the room chock full of
amphetamines.
The overturned kick drum book set the pace with incomparable
cool.
And if the tempo was lousy it was lost on all but
you...
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