When you've made your point
are you holding a cigarette?
Is the crowd held in awe
kickin' in with the funky backbeats—
as you pound scoundrels into the ground?
When you think of this happening
do you want to do a little dance
for once in time with a syncopation
of rage and articulation then
unshaken for a smooth drag as deftness pounds out doubt?
And if you should sell out—
is it the corruption of the cool;
every desired an attitude,
every coupling an amendment
in a limousine's rolling Constitution?
Started while residing in NM, unsure of street or city (Santa Fe or Albuquerque), age 26, 27, 28, 29, or 30.
The last stanza is a just now hasty rewrite of an abysmal stanza’s good ideas.
Writings By Erick Heins 