Roger Singer

 

 

 

 

 

The juice

of apples

got no

hold over

what makes

the jazz

breathe bold

and not some

windy city

towers reaching

to the moon

or Frisco bay

winking at hills

where houses

tilt like the

bass mans

sizzling strings

can not

compete

to Bourbons

marching feet

and horns lipped

by lovers

of sound

and windows

wide open

letting loose

notes up flying

through streets

under stars

shinning with

big on the

Easy.