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This writing was accepted for publication
in the 84 page perfect-bound issue...
Down in the Dirt magazine (v098)
(the September 2011 Issue)




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Down in the Dirt magazine cover Wisdom in Broken Hands This writing also appears
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“Wisdom in Broken Hands”
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Bleeding Heart
Cadaver

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100 Words
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The Beatnick and The Monk

Daniel J O’Brien

Today I am a beatnik, pointed beard, tilted cap,
Sitting in small cafe, snapping my fingers to
A melodic exultation by Thelonious Monk.

I love to hide in the early 60s, when rebels had
No stake, except to refuse to grow up, the
Traditional way. Too bad James Dean
Didn’t hang around long enough to see Woodstock.
The hands of fate had a tombstone ready,
just waiting for his name to be etched in immortality.

Monk is pounding his fingers across the piano like
A jackhammer cuts through concrete with the highest
Precision. He is so on that you dare not speak to another sole
Out of respect. In walks John Coltrane, making his way
Up to Monk and as they fall gracefully into “My
Favorite Things.”

I am sitting here, at table, writing lines for a
Poem called “Lil’ Sister.” It starts, “hey lil’ sister
With watery eyes, your love is like a stain you can’t Remove
Tell me some stories, give me some lies, give me a pain
That can’t be soothed.”Then Monk and Coltrane end their set.

I walk out on the cold streets of New York, 57 Chevys
Riding up and down Second avenue, a Thunderbird splashes
Water at me and I just laugh. It’s 4 am and still wide
Awake.

I head to my apartment, replaying Coltrane’s riffs
in the faucets of my mind.
I sit on my bed, roll a joint, and start to read Ginsberg’s
Howl, puffing away until my eyes close a little. Then, slowly
My head Falls back on a a pillow next to a copy of Kerouac’s Dharma Bums.

The morning alarm rings on my cell cell phone. Most dreams
You can’t remember. This one was a gift, in a time of rebels.



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