Originally posted 4/6/2013.

Used to tell myself

stop listening to Max Roach,
stop reading Greg Corso;
you’ll never
have Max’s singing rhythm, 
never match Corso’s mad flow.

Today I say shut up,
stop yourself, self.

The joy of Max’s silky beat,
Corso’s rough banging, tongue hanging words —

good enough for me
without looking for more now,

for now I know who I am —

I write like a plowhorse plodding.
I never could figure one end of a drum stick from another.
Already in the “where are they now’ file.
Already deep in the winding down — 

I know who I am.

Hearing Max Roach without envy,
reading Greg Corso with no lust to best him?

All the ambition and strain has fallen
completely at last away. 

I’m not rattled
or on fire anymore.
I can finally hear
and be at peace.