. . .I'm a Jazz Commuter
Faded faces of Beatniks past
Yeah, man. I slip. I slide. Snippity snap
I'm a Jazz Commuter piddily pap!
Singing my song on treadmill slow
Black gorillas, tyrants running on bloody snow.
Yeah, I dig myself. I dip. I dig.
I'm a Jazz Commuter gotta feel my grip.
Smoking, choking establishment's fence
No, man. Sliding, slacking. No money. So tense.
Yeah, dig it, man. I think. I rap. I move
I'm a Jazz Commuter not feeling your groove.
Coffee cup I have to gulp clippity slippity
Shang-a-lee, we are free my bongos ring.
Goatee, shades and man, I'm in. Really in
Clicking, snapping, dancing and gazing at friends.
Clouds, man. Clouds of blood on our two hands
Waiting on war. Not near or far, man, we're the band.
Doubably do and man, see what's in you.
Sneakity, slat. Yeah, man, I'm where it's at.
I'm a Jazz Commuter sweating in suits of wool
Cool, man, cool. Not making myself one pure rule.
I'm a Jazz Commuter, winkity, wink
Listen, man, closely, man, to what I think.
Sip, slip and pat table top to death
Reciting my poems to chicks Carla, Dove, and Beth.
Notes of soul, oh, soul, man oh man how it flies
I'm a Jazz Commuter ahold of briefcase ties.
Bats of eyes and men of coal
Killing us out, man, dig it, Big Brother's big goal.
Black sweatshirt and pants, man, lookity, look
I quote McQuen, man, the tears hits the book.
I'm just a Jazz Commuter, slowing, feeling it, dude
Running backward, stumbly stump
Landlord's a drag man, uptight, the angry grump.
Hey, man dressed in establishment suit
I'm a Jazz Commuter, that's not my bag or serpent's loot.
Mind expansion's our dark friend outside
Man, "we" are all fading, man, I hate my insides.
Lenny's rants, man, do ya' dig 'im?
I'm a Jazz Commuter, strings-a hang up dim.
Padding Frisco taking a trip
Dig the cash, man, but not jumping his flip.
I'm a fading Jazz Commuter, walking away
Sleeping, man, sleeping and wasting, I said wasted today.
The music's gone, coffee's left too,
Man, it's dark, dingy and I'm high on you.
I'm a Jazz Commuter, man, I lost another job
Materialism, man. I hate it and how it robs.
Clothing, dude. Man, can you feel it?
I'm a Jazz Commuter today you have it
Tomorrow we lose it.
© 2016 Kenneth Avery
More by this Author
Just one poor, misguided soul standing along side an almost deserted highway hoping to hitch a ride from The Reaper.
We all as members of humanity are either chasing or going into our own fading horizon. Sometimes it's sad. Sometimes it's a celebration. You be the judge.
Fake, real, or just another television show?