Let's Get Lost / Chet Baker / RCA Select: 3054
Chet's on fire
a calm burn
the slow drip of heroin (Pulse)
on two and four
glistening warmth of cool stars
tapping down on his lidded eyes
smoke off the tabletops
glasses of amber and ice (Pulse)
Chet strokes the cheeks of his boxer's face
with the trumpet's mouthpiece
fingertips fluttering on brass
His sad eyes
his lidded eyes
The life-lines in his hands (Pulse)
The death and darkness crouching
in the lines of his aging addict's face
—"How old is he in this picture, when he died?"
—"I don't know, how old does he look?"
—"He couldn't have been that old..."
Now on a cramped low stage in a stranger's heaven
backed by the soft brush
of piano, drums, and bass
his lover's voice
his father's voice
his gentle man's voice
Lips pursed he hands us his heart
(Pulsing) on polished brass
Cool blue as doomed
as his last song
sung from the window
of a high-rise
to an audience of junkie's props—
belts pulled taut,
spoons, matches, brown froth,
the slow drip of blood (Pulse)
And when he hit the ground
the sound
of one finger snapping
--Rick Lopez
From Poetic Wax, a record review column in Tic-Toc Rock, November 1989, p.5
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