Ra Was Right

like a flaming guitar
sprinkled with lighter fluid,
four alarm fires roar
through Dark Ages on
saxophones, trumpets,
pianos, drums, basses—
bari on bottom of
Interstellar swing—
Bebop blessings of
High Priests of Black Music

Time’s one dimensional
flying forward—
Fly Me To The Moon
let me loiter in the
Universe beyond
historical blips:
Above smoke stacks
spewing mushroom clouds;
Above wingtip-wearing
idiots poisoning our planet’s water;
Above primitive
Tomahawk missiles,
‘Apache’ and ‘Blackhawk’
helicopters and drones;
Above true believers
babbling ‘bout ‘our democracy;’
Above multibillionaire
media disguised as ‘mainstream;’
Above 37% ‘approval’ ratings;
Above an orange meteorite
un-humbled by the stars!

Fly Me To The Moon
with a connecting
flight to Saturn—
my mind ‘round icy rings,
low-riding unknown
regions, horizons—
Finding formulations,
Equations, for overthrowing
gray-suited, star-spangled
lapel pin patriots—
True believers in
Yes, we can—
Yes, we can and
Bottle Jim Jones Juice
and deliver regime
Change you can believe in…

They said Ra was out—
way, way too far out:
Now, out is in, and
In is out—and the
cosmos is cool,
Saturn’s home—
“Space is the place!”

Former forklift driver/warehouse worker/janitor, Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; BAR's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC. Read other articles by Raymond Nat, or visit Raymond Nat's website.