(A Letter from Hammertown to a Pair of Unspecified Brooklyn Postal Districts)

Dear M,

do you have
The Magic Band

audience tape,
Boxing Day 1976,

audio quality
better than the Dead Sea scrolls,

not quite as good
as one of those Northern Soul

anthologies taken
from singles

traded for leapers
in the ozone-swept alleys

of Cleethorpes?
The audience energized,

better fed than usual
at least the day before--

those from the area
and those like Mr. Van Vliet

swept in on the Franz Klines
and Santa Anas--

it takes a day for the stuffing
and unfamiliar liquers

to clear but everyone
hits the ground running--

a mellotron is introduced
the clarinet is busted out

& the old songs wriggle
& roll like the Ford-era traffic outside

by recreating the accidents
of their conception--

'The Blimp' in this context
greeted like 'Katmandu'

or 'Kashmir', old pros
with a hint of indifference

givin' it to the people
like the last present

hidden forgotten behind
the tree, though at points

the rust flakes off
to dust mite central

blowing back yo-yos
tumbleweeds, poppies, coyotes.