Need beat and beat or I feel beat
like dead dog lying in the street
Mingusian riffs to drown my fears
Bukowski's growls to fill my ears

A voidish horror fills my head
sucking in those things I dread
I must kill it, Beatman, fill it
Seize my skull and please to drill it.

Pump in sax and sex, prayer and hex
Haitian Fight Song
poems that go wrong
Roach and Diz give me the biz.

Something's going to fill my skull
Could be bright or could be dull
Fog surrounds me, tries to drown me.
On a rail run outa-town me.

Dogs come prowling, snapping snarling
My head is filled with hellish howling.
Need a stick to beat them back
A weapon to resist attack
DiPrima's words or blow of Bird
Need the bright to blind the dull
Need the light to fill my skull.

Living in this narrow town,
churchish bigots get me down.
Need to drive to stay alive
Find that college coffee dive
Listen to them blow jazz jive.
Buzz like bees around the hive

Beatboys take in little money
But, man, they pump out boppin' honey
Blow that dust right out my head
Now know I'm living, don't be dead

Skinny drum-bum, might be 20
Pumps the beat, man, more than plenty
Sticks are flying, barely see'em
His jive don't lie in no museum.

Young black sax man, hot as cook pan
Leans on wall, blows stormin' squall
Fingers moving, always proving
Young man can blast from hot jazz past.

Bass he chase blues from the place
Thumpin out that saving grace
that puts me right back in the race
Life once more has sweetest taste

Guitar man who plays like Wes
Strums them chords, I must confess
It rolled my bones, reached in my chest
like shock to heart, a jolt jump start
keeps me outta the dead man's cart.

Got beat and beat, now feel the beat
My feet are dancin' in the street.