leddeliverance and the last bust

by the end of seventyfour everyone 
had been busted done minor time or was on parole

–imagine the word-

either possession consuming sale or intent to sell

was on the score (add paraphernalia galore 

with all of the above) and worst of all 
the gang had gone to the dogs with circles in tow

even cliques of two and ragtag combinations

with a common destination

space and deep space and beyond if you got lucky

and with the ever present hard rock band 
plowing the way to make sure you got there alright

specially with all the hard dope of choice in

_or choiceless_ only eager to consume the same

to go along all the way or quasi

what do you have to lose was the general consensus

_nobody’d change their style

if anything some had gotten quite paranoid 
that’s all _it was the way to go

next day you’d be at work

smoke joints drop something snort shoot whatever

carol said they played stairway to heaven endlessly

at the factory and everytime someone freaked out

you’d hear houses of the holy rising over the din

and miraculously things would start to fall into

place and charley would doze off 
or stop barfing so

when the rumor started about the zeppelin 
comin’ to orchard park with their new album

which hadn’t even come out

the excitement threw us in a frenzy

with casualties all about 
randy crashed his dodge kenny quit his band

charlene ended up at meyer hospital again

donnie got ripped off big buying drugs in virginia

street and i got blamed for it 
it was a mess

but then the new album was out and everything

appeared to be tidy _it was huge 
no one believed it’d be better than zosa

and the rollercoaster was on its own now

_when tickets went on sale we had ours

then there were news about trouble in florida 
boston rumors of cancelled shows

but we were high on a roll

nonstop the turntable wearing the score 
until a crash thundered and i opened my eyes

to a man pointing me with a gun

saying something about drugs in the fridge

and policemen plain-clothes and dogs 
swarmming in my home

and the top dog asking me to become a rat

so i went to jail holding a ticket for a zeppelin

recital a farewell concert 
or the last of the first leg i forget

finally the blimp went west 
while i spent thirty days in the can

before putting up bail just in time to catch

Joe Walsh being formidable

as the season announced summerfests 
and it went well

a regular hot summer with rains at dawn 
while staying up taking on the night full

with Rock'n'Roll and heartbreak moves

and physical graffiti blaring out of every car 
until summer came to a close with the bars

at the lake and indian ed -the snitch- 
put a gun to his mouth and blew his head

now when our hero has fallen

now when our hero has fallen straight down and directly

hit bottom he walks on living stones set as a path narrow

across the needle eye unendurable and unsanctioned

he peers defiant into the untrodden path disappearing

in the dead of nights beyond convinced that no death

comes without certain errors suffered by degrees in time

crawling through the hole his hands burst on fire sudden his

sight darkens the only one unblinded by faith he walks at

last free of terror at ground zero among the rest faithfully  

bleeding his thoughts to fuel the recipient mother vessels

flying to great beyonds each of them full with treatises

of our lore and a great black bible holding the claims for evil
to what is simply explained with plain observance and reason

failing our hero dumbfounded tho filled with honors at heart

i love america # 33

(rough day for a rogue vigilante on the run)

saddened but unfortunately not surprised

-said the wife who took the opportunity

to have him served with divorce papers

while in jail

i don’t think he’s going to hurt himself

or anyone else –said his attorney

there was a choking she didn’t report

to the police –said the prosecutor

he mentioned suicide in the past saying

he had nothing to lose –said the girlfriend

she’s in fear for her safety –said the d a

you broke my glass table you put your gun

in my fuckin face telling me to get the fuck

out –says the girlfriend in the released

audio of calls made to the police

what kind of weapon –asks the 911 operator

a shotgun he has all of his guns inside

both the shotgun and his a r and his two

handguns -says the girlfriend

an AR-15 –asks the operator

yeah –says the girlfriend

my girlfriend has gone crazy on me

she’s got a 9 millimeter

i have my firearms

i mean we keep it next to the bed

she’s pregnant with our child

as i started to pack my stuff to go

she just completely changed

i just wanted to leave –says the vigilante

in another police released audio recording

why are you calling –asked the dispatcher

i just want everyone to know the truth –the

vigilante replied

she’s not pregnant no one was hurt during

the incident –police said

in a related news his lawyer revealed he’s

$2.5 million in debt

drama of exile

can you follow me _she utters in song

set in rock and oblique with innuendos

she addresses the sunrise on the deep self

it arises from under a deluge of keyboard

dissonance disparate and unyielding

_a summons to one who made her his own_

to the lawns of dawns then anon in marble

where a child had a spree in the wild thus

the grain of backwoods outlands deserts

in songs declaring the absence and naming

the absent well known legends as her own

who would not follow your call certainly

we had our fill of distress and caresses

with good times and warnings roped high

in the wind blowing through hearsay road

blocks milestones beyond hill and ravine

we trickled to the pool the record shops

the passes where did all begin and end

a journey with roses from koln to the sun of

ibiza _mirth birth reverie in her own words

it was an unfortunate play to begin to know

the shadows on your smile as if bitter shrouds

and yet ready to become a debutante in rock

with a script mirrored in your own memoir

how was it devised among kilikini nadett and

you to sell the drama as a chore paid for

in advance and have it ended a royal foul up

with a double score _a strange device of sorts

i read about the cover shot being on the stairs

ascending somewhere in the paris subway 
loaded

her eyes witness the unremitting exile _
the stage awaits heroes and the end is most certain

The "remake" released on Invisible Records_   
https://mega.co.nz/#!MtIRVDzS!LrA9bMODFIpSnTGxyabp2ElhOqlSz_spuV6lU3V7F8s

Re:  The Classic Years  (1998)

                                                                                                                

When did I begin to be moved by your songs, and with no reason apparent.  I was living in Buffalo when someone turned me on to that album with the banana cover and all those songs marked  ‘forever’. Suddenly you were fixed within my walls -a loadstone- with only three songs you made us believe you.  That was all, there was no more about you.  And it was albums galore in the milk crates, with the most imaginative covers and there were comings and goings plenty, but no one knew about you.  We didn't even know Chelsea Girls existed.  The Marble Index was not available, so we had to send for it to some place in San Luis Obispo, California.  Yeah, we were down.  And  I still didn't know your name, well, you were just Nico.  The action kept growing hot.  I used to hang out in the West Side and all around.  I was happily surprised when the Kevin Ayers live album came out and you appeared, and then thrilled with The End release.  We were so down.  And finally when I found out about Desertshore, it was nowhere to be had.  I got it at long last at Record Theatre as an import around 75, and that was my take of the Classic Years.

Recently I tried to get the link for the music on the CD of the same title.  I was successful. I’m aware of the many Live recordings that have surfaced after her death.  I imagine they call for mandatory listening.  In the meantime I rest in the shade of YouTube and muse on an occasional memory. Like when I walked on Elmwood Avenue just short of the Buff State campus and went into ``Play it again, Sam`` where they had them Roir casettes and discovered Nico live in Europe 82-83 ( and Johnny Thunders Live and Television with the Little Johnny Jewel cut ), all of which I brought to south america and lost, with everything else, in the flood.  It's kind o'late, maybe tomorrow I'll dig out Drama of Exile and give it a reading (I know it needs some dusting off).  Like I said, she's been an inspiration since the banana...                                                                                                                              

father...are thou in the cavern

if the almighty father knew

what this moment is for me and you

he’d be the prince that slew

the dragon in the dragon’s lair

and placed upon his tongue of fire

the hand that wisdom cast

on blood and flesh and passion

to feel the burn of time

scorch the monster’s head

who sparked up all the novas

of the universe’s thread

but god’s a captive in this minute

that time has spun on rock and sinews

and in the lion’s den he stands a single

man to feel this dawn’s first rays

spurting from the beast’s fangs

with tongues we are made to taste

each time with crimson tears

of brick and steel (love concrete)

the person foretold to become will be up next

keeping the hour of engagement without fail

_coincidence or a lottery could explain best_

doubtless we learn the score in a lone move

to pass through the doors aglow and dead

-here music…preferably The WASP (Texas 

Radio And The Big Beat) by The Doors-

we know the score 
we can take the heat

the guardians of our circumstance

holders of our keys 
(sponsors of our dreams if you may)
deal our portion by chance fortune 
or misfortune _tell you a fib

i shot my darling when our angel

turned against us lovers 
we had placed our emotions in a bid

to ride the wheel spinning our hearts

on a tread of faith set to live 
the given play with our own will 
and failed

eighteen months later 
i was cursing the land of the free

and the one of cockaygne riding
a penitentiary van on a saturday morning

with muzzi meisner and hollywood 
from east side buffalo aka cocaine

_remember the set_ the skies grey

and everyone quietly playing the current

take of the foolhardy knight’s tale

the one to steal the show gets the most time

in jail _we remember little else 
and we say in virtue of the fruit taken

for eden’s sake don’t forgive us we're threats

light burns oblivious of that first breath

blowing sparks to no end only to fail you

when your heart has stopped

‘the poets down here don’t write nothing at all

they reach for their moment and try to make

an honest stand’ _quote on the wall of a ny jail

everyone is gifted with fear and faith

everyone is gifted with fear and faith

in its breath to live through its earthly

inheritance along plain memory and hope

in the mist of alternative shootouts

(when in the queue or elsewhere

 _better make it a rule -just

 anywhere- mind the telling

 gestures signals ground writings

for in due time we all get the call to be

in the game and we must be affixed

with a pledge in spite of any handicap

or ability

hardest is to be picked out as fisherman

or tax collector _no head role's welcome_
(the outcome's well known and the cross)

but the question is how to achieve the will

for holiness while trapped in cosmic flesh

and blood and with the universe inherited

as a mental block...and one toils to strike

a mark to see justice on the score though

at long last one couldn’t expect to be

remembered at all

so while on the road we meet at rest-stops

over proverbial cheeseburgers and coke

sometimes one’s too weak (not that the soda

is too strong) and they have to take down

the water-closet door to drag you out