*Excerpts from “Boott Mill Rap”
(2012)
Boott Mill rap…
Fuck a sandwich—let your ear drums eat that…
Let it go bump beat bap
Kick back relax…
Listen to my pen tip—hittin’ the drum…
Don’t get no more “Beat” than this shit does…
On the toilet seat—sittin’ my bum…
Writin’ these words instead’a flippin’ my tongue
How many generations are “Beat”?
Baby, much peace to James Dean
They call me Boots—my ink streams…
About red-brick mills that Kerouac seen…
Not to mention rhythm uncle Gary instilled in me…
Visions of a G…
Bangin’ with the band in Lucy Larcom park—I was about three
Above all we reach the mount of Beatitude peak when we seek and receive Jesus’ peace…
Never seein’ defeat
“Writers write, they don’t be askin’ people how”
Lemme feed ya somethin’ off my own spoon…
Here come some poetry food…
It’s like 1:00 in the afternoon…
Thursday—first day of March…
Cold and snowin’ at a good clip—good start
Walkin’ through downtown…
Rainy concrete Lowell is how I think of the city—it stood dark…
But snow make everything merry and bright…
Is it simply because it’s white and I relate it to light?...
Or ‘cause I relate it to Christmas and Christ?
Navigatin’ steps over slush puddles
Hush, humble…
Slow it down before ya ass stumble
Folks out cleanin’ off cars and sidewalks with shovels…
Dis-united unity…
Couple friendly exchanges…
Are we really strangers—you an’ me?
Could be providin’ homeless with some room and feed…
But vain upkeep is the rude routine
Hope revolution is the scene soon seen
Lemme step off my soapbox
Back to the Worthen yo—back to the spot…
When the door opens it’s like everyone stops…
Looks down the bar to see who’s next for a shot
I like the feeling of a pub in the middle of the day…
It’s winter and it’s warm in the place…
The regulars chatter about work and the state…
I overhear them as the tv is playin’ the game
Lemme be on my way…
Around the corner—Pollard Library…
Front entrance and huge doors welcome to my itinerary…
Now I’m on the 3rd floor writing this—don’t think I write rarely…
More I do, more I can die fairly…
Helping me live
Glancing out the window as the wind blow and the snow it whips…
Above Merrimack St.—heart of the city this is
Lowell research from horse’s mouth—Jack Kerouac’s lips…
Authenticity
“Book-movie”—author this city
Involved in self-discovery…
For me and all of us as the pen bleeds
Nostalgic
Romantic is the search for cultural social space that ain’t materialistic
Poets of genius just decorations…
If they ain’t kind and loving with their exploration
We want Jesus’ exhortations…
Get you through the mess you’re facin’.