B. L. KENNEDY		OUTRIDER (for Mike West) “Now, get your ass out of bed you have poems to write”                   -Jack Hirschman- PART ONE: Berkeley.             Last night poems as butterflies unfolded and flew                   Out of       Jack Hirschman’s mouth at Moe’s                         Books on             Telegraph             Outrider cries…alive!                               Wednesday, April 16, at 4:44PM                               I write these first lines Step into dreams Of past loves, of friends living & dead       Poetry has its way.  Words bleed from skin                               From eyes, mouth & nose             Ears open to world                               Sounds                   Passions unbound       Flicker like those damn butterflies.                               Outrider waits                   For passion to wail                         Open its mouth                               Apply proper surgical procedure Release self within self                   Release poems                               To feed a world       At 4:45PM              My friend                           Zardoz dies & travels home To release, to feed             Worlds within worlds                   Working crazy                         Magick like wisdom                               Along astral planes                                     Release poems                                           To feed a world Outrider Stands alone on rooftops His desert voice His capacity for love…so urgent       So urban Ringolevio             His focus, his goal                         He feels the rain       Drip down someone             Other face                   It sparkles       With aloneness             Do you know this love? From hilltop to mountain range                   This song of all things &       Recall not so good days             Of Jew Bronx                   Of blood baptism             Blood spattered across face                   From shots fired                         In front of                               Safeway       The body hits concrete             With slow, delicate motion                   Mother cries to sky                         To God             For there is no room for                     Love in her heart right then                               Outrider grins                   Those sounds of moment                         When heaven floods                               Its last light                                   Across bodies                                Of all things in the West                                           Yet written                               Outrider                               As poem alive                         Between coasts                                     Between rivers & oceans                         Between flowers & time                         The page is a mystical state                   It’s Ash Wednesday                                  City streets empty                         Sound & movement                               Empty                                     Eyes, imagined trains                               Of poets are empty                                     In the world                                     Outrider stands                                     Alone		BEEN BORN BRONX I Been Born Bronx Sole borough of New York City Attached to mainland America Free of scolding orthodox psyche I corrupt the odd word… Stapled to censorships cross I Been Born Bronx I am an outlaw rabbi with silver spurs riding Everything That is attached to the American Dream And will not be ignored! GOD DOES NOT SEE ME; GOD JUST GETS IN MY WAY!  I Been Born Bronx With no prohibitions, no rules or regulations I ask no permission