(On The Death Of Bob Kaufman)
I know where rainbows go to die
I followed your footsteps
Across a strange uncharted land
Where silver whispers tried to hide
Beneath demented shadows
And oboe skies
Together we walked through a fabled city
Of hallucinating green
And talked away
A thousand smoking nights
As your aching heart
Beat its bones
In times to bird’s brilliant sounds
Over the neon streets of murdered schemes
Yes I was there
And I saw your love proclaimed
In a fractured smile
Like yesterday’s headlines printed in blood
On a bumble bee’s wings
And yes
I would wear your eyes
On January 12th
The dawn came up
Singing the blues
The calendar fell apart
In the face of that wounded Sunday
And even the redwoods wept
At your passing
But no bell tolled in the bowels of Winter
The snail did not grin
At the grandfather clock
Nor did any roses grow
From the tail of a rusting comet
Only a whooly starfish groaned
On a beach of stolen planets
As a tatooed lizard
Shed its suit of cold echoes
And you danced with Harlem’s great king
Down the alleys of paradise
To a feast of blazing umbrellas
I remember
Long gone doorways
Where ancient dealers leaned
And sold their twenty dollar bags of dreams
To those in need
And poet
I saw you buy the truth
In a red balloon
And like some mythical alchemist
You cooked up the blood of stars
But instead of death
You drew music from your spoon
Voice: Martin Matz
Musicians: Deep Singh (tabla), Rima Fand (violino), Marlon Cherry (djembe) e Chris Rael (sitar).
