The lost "Beat Tapes" poem

when I got samba-pa-tied
& black-magic-womaned
enough
an old friend of mine came
in
& as always according to his
unannounced
visits
the room immediately
burnt
all apart

wine was a-flowin'
voices were shared
women were barely reminded
of
stark & in visions only

he wiped the sweat off his brow
& smiled

said he brought me the "Beat Tapes"
lost ones
real ones
readings saved by accident only
as all of our accidents
are
somehow
sometimes
saved...

said he found them at some flomarkt
down in old Berlin
& he payed 50 marks
for the pleasure

the tapes were nothing special
themselves:
blue, red & white
all dusty
"Ti Jean, Cody & Old Bull Lee"
said the sticker
& said it in barely
visible
pencil
some traces of ink
still there
as well

I put one of the tapes in my old
recorder. I shivered.
He responded.
50 marks' one hell of a price
for something so blessed
& so priceless

We waited impatiently...

& the first tape did run
& the third
& the second
& then there were those readings:
wind, all wind & wind
'til it's gone
not a trace of the trio's
voices

most honest
readings
ever

most honest ever
wind

most windy ever
trio