I was there, I’m sure of it, at the San Francisco
Art Institute to hear the Sun Ra Arkestra play in the
Courtyard, late 70s, just as I was in New York
City, at Slug's Saloon, on a Monday night in ‘67,
Having dropped a quarter tab of Owsley acid
Before entering the bar and the music
At Slugs was four hours of traveling
The spaceways with John Gillmore, Marshall
Allen, and Pat Patrick, et. al., the Sun perched
Stage left at the keys, burning bright. Took two sips
Of a beer that sat by itself on a table, or just one.
Music over, guys packing up, I pass the leader
Standing back at the bar and all I can say to him
Is "Sun.” And Ra looks me in the eye & says, “Dig.”
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