Contributor: "Weird" Ace Blues

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The beating heart of poetry they butchered out
of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years,
an eloi eloi lema sabachthani shout,
Oh God of me! Oh God of me! You man of tears!
Why you forsaken have me, Jazzman Saxophone!
The rhythm of ten thousand in those hearers' ears;
angelic flapping wings above the singing stones.
The speechless, unintelligent that shake with shame:
What is the sin tax and the measure of your bones?
Poor human prose is nothing but a pose, a name,
a rosy-fingered dawn above a raging howl.
How are you? sad? to blame? Are you not glad you came?


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"Weird" Ace Blues is a left over Hip-pie of the Beat generation.