On the seventeenth day of the year's seventh month, in the year nineteen seven

Times seven ... oh yeah, and the seventh day of the week,

Church bells were waking up northern Manhattan, ringing high heaven

The birth of a boy, unfashionably early, but chic.

His mom was a sea-captain's daughter, his dad's name was LeRoy, the king,

Folks prayed the prince would quit playing with his little thing.

He was raised in the heart of Harlem, and on North Carolina's coasts

South of Wilmington, a Cape Fear River port

Where gray Spanish Moss hung on great old oaks like ghosts

The sea-breezes swung, like the skirts of the girls he'd court,

Catching hell for his devilish eyes, to his big-city-boy surprise,

For conceit in disguise often leads to love's demise.

 
Had the usual share of ups and downs, paying his dues,

Worked a whole mess of lousy jobs to get through school,

Turned-on, tuned-in, dropped-out Fredonia, one of NY's State U's,

Got busted, drove cabs, wrote comics, stayed broke, stayed cool.

Then Len Galiulo, his mentor, his poetry prof, kicked his ass

Back to college -- he finished with honors, a head of his class.

Sold-out as soon as he could -- he wanted new amps and a bass,

And a star. Nine-to-fived it, bored, but real cute and cocky.

His dad, a musician, said, "What, are you crazy? Get out the rat-race."

His mom told him, "I never raised you to be a desk jockey."

His prof taught him, "Go see the world. Grow. Broaden your vision."

Fools learn their lessons the hard way -- he made his decision.

 
He landed a photojournalist gig, his ticket to ride,

And he took to the clouds. No time for stardom or poetry,

Loving his life on the go, living for love on the side,

Writing his ticket and loving it, so much to see,

Have Nikon and notebook will travel, but a near-death encounter occurred.

Concussion, unconscious, the song of the Muses he heard.

Bringing us up to a year's seventh month, and its seventeenth day,

As a comet came crashing to Jupiter, he found the net,

And a group called "rec.arts.poems." He was near-born again, right away,

Falling in love with a love he forgot to forget.

Now he thinks he's the outlaw of love, quite the dashing, poetic outsider.

Fools learn their lessons the hard way, Jesse Rider.

 
6NOV95

Torch Songs

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