now its jazz the place is roaring all beautiful girls in there one mad brunette at the bar drunk with her boys one strange chick i remember from somewhere wearing a simple skirt with pockets her hands in there short haircut slouched talking to everybody up and down the stairs they come the bartenders are the regular band of jack and the heavenly drummer who looks up in the sky with blue eyes with a beard is wailing beer caps of bottles and jamming on the cash register and everything is going to the beat its the beat generation its beat its the beat to keep its the beat of the heart its being beat and down in the world and like oldtime lowdown and like in ancient civilizations the slave boatmen rowing galleys to a beat and servants spinning pottery to a beat the faces theres no face to compare with jack mingers whos up on the bandstand now with a colored trumpeter who outblows him wild and dizzy but jacks face overlooking all the heads and smoke he has a face that looks like everybody youve ever known and seen on the street in your generation a sweet face hard to describe sad eyes cruel lips expectant gleam swaying to the beat tall majestical waiting in front of the drugstore a face like hunkes in new york the colored big tenor with the big tone would like to be blowing sunny stitts clear out of kansas city roadhouses clear heavy somewhat dull and unmusical ideas which nevertheless never leave the music always there far out the harmony too complicated for the motley bums in there the drummer is a sensational 12 year old negro boy whos not allowed to drink but can play tremendous a little lithe childlike miles davis kid like early fats navarro fans you used to see in espan harlem hep small he thunders at the drums with a beat which is described to me by a near standing connoisseur with beret as a fabulous beat on piano is blondey bill good enough to drive any group jack minger blows out and over his head with these angels from fillmore i dig him now its terrific i just stand in the outside hall against the wall no beer necessary with collections of in and out listeners with verne and now here returns bob berman he comes now in dancing like that glad everybody looks everywhere its a jazz joint and beat generation madtrick you see someone hi then you look away elsewhere for something someone else its all insane then you look back you look away around everything is coming in from everywhere in the sound of the jazz hi hey bang the little drummer takes a solo reaching his young hands all over traps and kettles and cymbals and foot peddle boom in a fantastic crash of sound 12 years old what will happen 1
['beat poetry']