to be or not to bop (too) 

(originally entitled "Dizzy")

rider leapfroggin over the Union Square El

atop bent trumpet

fresh from decimatin the competition,

angel rainin mystic

strolls in from Philadelphia packin struggle rhythms,

blowin by skins tuned in lightnin 64th notes

pickpocketin his soaked drummer,

destroyin midnight February Broadway’s dashed lines

headin north up the FDR,

uptempo music forever movin

exaggeratin into the air of possibilities-

to be or not to bop:

absolutely

no question.

hushed

snow fallin

white poppy round midnight

winterwashed Harlem,

Dizzy never goin back,

he and Bird realizin long ago

the first time’s always perfect, man,

brother deuces trumpetin and blowin down the East River

annihilatin the gates clean off 52nd St,

mad fickle lovers flingin dark glasses

decipherin naked notes.

composin one more Mr. Jones: their generational copilot.

and when Max’s and Monk’s uptempo drives em further,

14 melodies

burst out Dizzy’s parachuted cheeks one blow

mergin into one silverthroated voice,

flatted fifths soarin

blown in whispers,

exact Minton’s of harmony.

when those uptown streets,

those bebop bedsheets

roll way back downtown

to that place where cheeky cognac sunset waves run,

to that place where Rockaway Beaches roll crashin way away

to that hip empyrean where this maestro’s giant heart lives on

still touched and embracing his child’s artistry:

Dizzy’s livin festivin blowin go further on,

forever dinin out on the Blues.

SF, 1974