Lately, I've become accustomed to the way
The ground opens up and envelops me
Each time I go out to walk the dog.
Or the broad-edged silly music the win
Makes when I run for the bus...
Things have come to that.
And now, each night I count the stars,
And each night I get the same number.
And when they will not come to be counted,
I count the holes they leave.
Nobody sings anymore.
Amiri Baraka
Found a book a year ago in City Lights bookstore in Frisco.
I was missing my folks down in L.A, my melted face broke down in pieces and then I saw this poem with Big letters under books about Dylan and Ginsberg.
Ella was wispering my ears and Baraka was Dizzeling my spirit.
good night folks!
gr.
The Akuaigar
The Dizzle Duzzle
