HEAVYWEIGHT FOR A REQUIEM
and Yet... Never forget to fret... full golden chances
passed by, moot motley ebonic and ivoried romances...
Agora-phobic police de-activated dances...
frantic stanzas and stances, set
to fly... out the window of
opportunity... knockin' at the Heavenly Door
of "DADA"... where anything goes anymore...
on a rainy winter
sleepy Baaaa- sel sheepish Sunday night... courting
only lonely un-requiets for a Heavy Weight-of-the-World,
on the stretched (cold) shoulder/hip (hopped)/
shin (splint)/ arch (triumphed)... sprain-pain-realignment...
On consignment C/ DV/ BV - Dees for all the
giving Oceanic free-ranged thanks...
for the mammaries, suckled on the bitter-sweet
teats of celeb-glam-ities... and vanities of the
"c'est bon!"...(fumer) Fire!... not prohibited
(but, why are)... we hear?!
Tonight there's no fear...
doing what we do...
I received this poem just minutes ago, fresh from the magnificent and expansive thinking apparatus of my friend of forty years, the inimitable Elliot Levin. He is representing the broke, banged-up, but tenacious populace of the city of Philadelphia with words, squeaks, honks, soaring harmonics and his own inimitable style. Forget Rocky ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Levin is the real deal, not some Hollywood simulacra of a champion. Elliot Levin is a creative giant and he should be provided all the comforts due a man of his stature, including ample leg room to stretch out and relax on his flight home. Be sure to enjoy his creativity and his unique sense of humor while he walks among you, because when he is gone you will never see the likes of a man like that again.
The image above the poem is of Philadelphia resident and one time Heavyweight Champion of the World, the mighty Smokin' Joe Frazier, taken during his fight with the hard-hitting Oscar Bonavena. Frazier embodies certain qualities found in the collective persona of the people of Philadelphia. He was willing to take three punches to land one of his own devastating blows. Joe Frazier was one bad man with a left hook as destructive as a wrecking ball falling from outer space. Forget Rocky, Rocky was less than nothing at all. Joe Frazier was the real deal, not some Hollywood simulacra of a champion. HE WAS THE DAMN CHAMPION!