by Tim G. Young
Jazz torn born from
The womb of a saxophone
In the smoky black room
Back room through a tangle
Of beads, seeds potions
Shot down like shots
Lungs bursting in the alleyways
Trying to keep with the beat
Big sticks falling hard on drums
Walking proud loud
Nobody ever says nothing about
Shutting it down
Morning is night when the time
Is right the moon don't know
Which way to turn
The sun is asleep
And nobody keeps watch
While the rest of the stars
play in the twilight and burn
Someone was saying how long is the song
How long does this song intend to go on
Because the song is long and never complete
so no way was this tune ever gonna peak
before another dawn had the chance to
sit down and eat
With the night who would soon be gone
In my dreams I still see his fingers moving
Like fireflies across them buttons on the horn
The riff repeats with the syncopated beat
Long after the drums have made their retreat
the piano perfect black and white
Croons like my baby in the jazz blast heat
Saxophone you shine like the sun
Perfect in your golden glare
Flaring at the end
Where all the notes bend
You call my name
Put my lame voice to shame
But lord knows how I love you
All the same.
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Inky black nights and shiny horns.
You wrangled in jazz and put it to words here in a fine fine way.