Lou reed. Charlie Parker. They fought with poetry and lost.
What is the origin of “poetry”?
I make.
I
Make.
“There is a time for daring and a time for caution.”
What about Lou Reed, what about Bird?
They fought with poetry, they struggled.
They lost.
We all lose.
They made a hell of a sound.
What about Dr. wilson?
He lost, too soon.
The sounds he made were childish yawps,
But still were made.
A blot of ink that spreads across a page.
Good. Yes.
What about Robin?
Can we know?
We know his characters, that twinkle in his eye, that promise.
Did he break it?
No.
It still beckons us forwards, onwards,
Into the fullness of life,
Its traffic, its huddled masses, its shouts, its horns;
Its quiet places too, its huddled fallen leaves,
Its fallen leaves.
It asks us, yes or no, and we answer: