Patriot :Meditations on Myself and Albert Ayler
Suppose my father's rich and my mother's good looking, I have never suffered and I don't intend to suffer and I can play the blues/ One day I surrender to rumors/ good fortune with the empty hegemony of an abandoned tenement/ Suicide hints at baptism, besides,
what is wrong with this country
my lungs, mild glee from just functioning, gasp and plug me like a junkie- My daddy's rich and my mom's so good looking that I don't intend to surface and I can place the blues in my nerves like a landlord, What is wrong with this city, on the first- chances you are my chances my sweepstakes my ever-since My father's gone and my mother's still looking and I don't intend to panic or alternate or turn to you, vindictively polite, talking about a crisis in the ribs of a whistle frames a woman, Halflife
If I had my way, I'd have been a killer My mother's rich, good, looking father
Eames chairs and rare records quail feathers in his Stetson, or a different bird
