Over fifteen bucks
\nof shitty dope,
\nsome asshole
\nbrings his knee
\ninto Chet’s mouth–
\nin that second
\nbetween tooth
\nbending in its socket
\nand calcium rubbing
\nthe nerve to ring out–<\/p>\n
there is Peace. Then the tooth The knee will still when no one would help, Meanwhile, the stratosphere _____<\/span>you begin, you end.
\nNo bullet is fired
\nin Palestine.
\nEveryone’s kissing
\nin the streets
\nof Prague and Warsaw.
\nIn Hong Kong, someone
\nslips a toe under table
\nand rubs the inner thigh
\nof another.
\n_____<\/span>In short, 1968 is
\n_____<\/span>a heaven on earth.<\/p>\n
\ngives way. No one
\nis at fault, really.
\nChet needed some dope.
\nThe Man needed more,
\nmore money, more pain.
\n_____<\/span>Who are we to fault them
\n_____<\/span>for their fundamentals?<\/p>\n
\nstrike Chet’s mouth,
\nhis lips scabby
\nfor weeks in London,
\ntrying to escape
\nthe moment, that moment<\/p>\n
\neven pretty ladies
\nin passing cabs, no, no —
\nwho would help a jazz
\ntrumpeter in his despair?
\n_____<\/span> He blows his own winds
\n_____<\/span> and sows his own sour seeds.<\/p>\n
\nis punctured and punctured.
\nNo one bats an eye.
\nChet can’t feel his palate
\nbut no one bats an eye.
\nThis is how it works:<\/p>\n
\n_____<\/span>Sometimes, you end
\nless than ceremoniously,
\nno lords to regale you
\nat the gala, no gods
\non bended knee, the king
\nstays the king and
\nno scales fall from
\ntrumpet or eye.
\nAll is right in the knee
\ninto the jaw. All is right
\nas the sun sets into the Pacific
\nnothingness. See it dip,
\nthen disappear.<\/p>\n