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Jack Kerouac - 241st Chorus
Work rating: Medium

And how sweet a story it is
When you hear Charley Parker
                tell it,
Either on records or at sessions,
Or at offical bits in clubs,
Shots in the arm for the wallet,
Gleefully he Whistled the
                 perfect
                  horn
Anyhow, made no difference.

Charley Parker, forgive me—
Forgive me for not answering your eyes—
For not having made in indication
Of that which you can devise—
Charley Parker, pray for me—
Pray for me and everybody
In the Nirvanas of your brain
Where you hide, indulgent and huge,
No longer Charley Parker
But the secret unsayable name
That carries with it merit
Not to be measured from here
To up, down, east, or west—
—Charley Parker, lay the bane,
  off me, and every body
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