Art Blakey/Matthew Lippman
Make More Art Blakey Mistakes
(Moanin’)
When I drive my car
On the interstate
I listen to Art Blakey
Not because I want to
But because he’s on the radio
And I’m too lazy
To turn the dial
So I let the wind
Suck my face
And Art Blakey’s back beat
Suck my face
Because I want my face
Sucked
Out of itself
So I might get
Out of my own way
For once
And stop thinking
About all the pain
I have inflicted upon
The ferns and the squirrels
My kids and wife
My mother and father
My brother Michael and his beauty
Stop thinking about
How I can make more cash
More raspberries
More dungeons
And maybe, instead
Make more Art Blakey mistakes
The ones when he hits his sticks
Instead of
Ka-chinging the high hat
While sweat flies off
His cheeks
In Oslo or New York
Make more double trills
Instead of singles bounces
Those moments that are not lies
That are secrets
He tells himself
Not even knowing
That he is unleashing
Some kind of stupid answer
To the mystery of being
Art Blakey
In a world of not
Art Blakeys
That’s what I want
To get out of my life
And live in a world
That is not my life
All mistakes and sweat
All trash talking
Drum spiraling
Truth.
Ant Fantasy
(Ugetsu)
Waiting for the grill
To heat up
The birds heated up
Like they are waiting
For rain
The ants too
Going from one end of
The deck
To the other with
Ark Blakey
Stuck to their
Ant heads
I’ve got Ugetsu
Cranked up high
For the rain
For the hamburgers
That I will kill
On the grill
Sometimes I want
To pick up the ants
And grill them too
And the clouds
Rub that cilantro
Jalapeño rub
All over their curvy
Sexy bodies
And fry them up high
Because most days
I want to eat everything
Sometimes out of war
Sometimes out of love
Put my face into the ant’s face
And eat that sucker
Ant bone and all
Cloud bone and all
Art Blakey
And his Japanese fantasy
That goes something like
Two trumpets
Two saxaphones
And a place very far away
That only the ants have been
In the rain
But it’s just my fantasy
And why I can’t do
Anything about anything
But sit here
And wait for rainfall
On my face
That I have stuck into
The rain
That I have stuck into
The already dead
Ground up beef
This absence of fantasy
This death
This everyday truth
A Night in Tunisia
(A Night In Tunisia)
I have never had
A night in Tunisia
Or a night in Icleand
But I’ve had a night
In Art Blakey
Where all the marimbas
Speak Spanish
And my head
Flies off my shoulders
Into outer space
The way my daughter says
In the car
It wouldn’t be funny
If people just fell off
The world
Into the blackness
I said
How old are you
She said Daddy
Don’t be stupid
And for a second she
Me
And her older sister
Were a night in Art Blakey
With Lee Morgan
And Bobby Timmons
Trying to get us out
Because if you stay
Too long
In Art Blakey
On any given night
You won’t be
A night in Tunisia
You won’t be a day
In New York City
You will
Be a man
Who has lost his head
But in that way
That it is like
Losing your head
When you are a night
In a thunderstorm
Falling into daffodil storm
Before you can get
A handle
On The yellow
That has just fallen
Into your body