by lgjaffe

this poet went to austin
riding on an airplane
made of peanuts and
flight attendants wearing
jogging suits
i wondered if we were going
to run instead of flying
made me glad i was wearing
my nikes even if they were made
strictly for poets and not pedestrians
flying down the highway of inevitability this southwest airlines
airplane made stops in cities
i half knew existed touched
down in el paso the runway
covered in tumbleweed
i'm in texas i said to myself
with a smile and a wink
hitched up my pants
and looked out the window
re-embarked on the plane
austin city limits bound hoping to
see willie and waylon or anybody cool
cause i was going to austin
and i am a poet man not a music man
but still seeking fame and fortune
selling my books in austin city without limits screaming poetic blues
my poetic jones shrieking
for good words and forgotten sorrows
and wanting some genuine texas vittles
find myself every night at katz' deli
deep in the heart of texas
every night after every read
find myself every night at katz' deli
cause i am from the bronx after all
and say y'all cause that's
the south bronx y'all
and i cannot get enough
poetry or pastrami
wishin' i could do my reads
in katz' fill those patrons up
with my raw words
while they fill their bellies with bagels this
poet went from coffeehouse to coffeehouse
hitting the guadalupe drag like a poetic
firestorm serving up his words and soul in
poetic diatribe at quack's and mojo's daily grind
watching people consume him poetically
collapsing in tears as he finally breaks through
faces and reaches their eyes
moving over to the home
of downtown arts diversified art
center gets the funky poetics
words start bouncing around
the room like a choir full of
hallelujahs and amens
words landing in souls
forget the ears
as marvin, floyd and me
go at with words of
many colors
there be mockin' words
and bluesy words
words of every shape
color and nationality
and the room is lit with poetry
patricia sings her words
so melodic is this poetic angel
marvin wails and i
want to cry
as floyd shoves my own
words down my throat
with a firm but gentle hand
a poet coming to austin
i had dreams of audiences with
six guns and ten gallon hats
riding bulls between sets
instead i had audiences
with rhythm making blues