coaxes guitar string
bending notes
into balmy summer night.
Music enveloping
sweaty men and women.
Cool drinks in their hands,
limp lazy bodies pushed
close at the hips
swaying to and fro
hypnotized
like India's snake.
Brushes caress
high hat and snare.
Brass horns
wail at the moon.
Sitting outside
in an alley,
my back pressed tight
to the wall,
I listen.
I listen to the
language of sorrow,
to sounds of
unrestrained joy
My senses seduced by
improvisational play,
Tink Ka Tink Tink Tinking
of fat piano blues.
Mind racing,
keeping time with
circular riffs.
I fly with the jazz men
in dark glasses and porkpie hats,
run away with the jazz men,
take flight in myself-
my window
left open back home.
