Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Jazz, for Once


Her staccato shoulder raised, shifted,
grappled by a stranger's hands,

Her eyes two slim and subtle
wounds like music notes,



and you wonder why they dim the lights
and let the saxophone blurt out its high-pitched
out of air gasp.

Your arms are tilted
branches too tranquil
for a bird's nest


but you sway quiet with the glass
in your hand like a guitar


and gulp this rhythm back