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

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