America is
a crisis of now, empty
fiction of shadow
dreams, museum of
broken forms. Tomorrow is
unprecedented
X—science and art,
the virgin twins, foxholed in
golden skies of love.
America is
a caravan of crazy,
a century of
something else, something
in the shape of a question,
but not our question,
something in the shape
of change, friends, but not our change,
a thing whose grammar
is not human, whose
tone is the tenor of time
as a thing that keeps
a record of things,
things to come. A design call
for the body, the
head, a prime design
for time, for women, for Man,
for the hidden three . . .
For the rare music
of improvisers, meta-
language of free sound
in a suite dancing
naked in the hall with all
the neighbors, colors
dialing feelings,
an evening song opening
the town like beauty.
[assemblage composed of words from Ornette Coleman LP titles]
Tags: haiku, harmolodics, jazz, poetry
The Book of Haiku Revelation 