JAZZY ST. WALK by Charlie R. Braxton.

hip hitting riffs split my brain on past
the sullen reflections of trane’
free jazz movement going on & on & on & on & on
and now even though
i don’t know exactly where it all begins or ends
i do know that I’ve spent decades untold
doing an old blues walk/dance
down these old mean & empty streets
sweating between the sheets
of satin doll & many moochers singing goodnight Irene
‘cause papa’s got a brand new bag of rhythm (& blues)
rocking and rolling all the way live down main street Harlem
by the way if muddy springs Mississippi you see
contrary to the all popular belief
jazz ain’t no kind of music
it’s an artful way of life spiced like a picked pig tail
steaming on a peppermint twist stick dig what I mean
yeah
i walk alone along these rough robust roads of jazz the same damn way
i walked the dirty dusty rows of cotton way back
down in the deep deep south
nobody knows the troubles I’ve seen
glory glory hallelujah
lord have mercy mercy mercy hallelujah
see you don’t know
what it’s like to live the lyric-less life of a poet
in exile lost without vision with only the bittersweet rutabaga memories of life back home
HOME HOME HOME
I say yeah I do walk alone
along these pitch black back streets
crying and bleeding blue jazzy sounds
from the raw pockets of my fatal wounds
desperately pleading for ancestral elders
holy wisdom to close the gaping holes
in my soul before I expose
too much too quick too soon
for these old men & angry streets are just
too too mean to be seen without
an axe to grind behind
if you dig my meaning…