August 2, 2011 § 1 Comment

Rhythmic like
the unmetered
metronomic click of a projector screening –
A flash, you’re seeing
Everything –
and you piece together
imagined happenings
Of when Major met Minor, when she taught him
Of history
Curved wrists suspended like marionettes from which fingers,
Limply hanging, brushing
Sound from stings like dust from keys or hair from cheek
Like smoke
That intertwines and rises, sliding
Between keys
Like smoke.
Crowds of lamentations
Overlapping –
Composer and muse like melody under ghost
Of melody
Not a language to be read, should not leave
Here there is only moments of
Then extinction
-it’s not about tomorrow
But it is

how sequined headbands
would sound in modern cars

Like African dance
on American bars

If cigars were played
like saxophones

If Gatsby met Mozart
On a slave-trade boat

What martinis sound like
when they’re secret

Like jumping broom handles
in historic cathedrals

Like yesterday meeting tomorrow
On the edge of a hazy shore

Clandestine conversations –
It is here that jazz is born.


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