SINGLE FILE

The jazz of his well overflows.

The wetness of long images

drip fluid hot from fingers

playing the burn.

A sweet pleasantness follows him.

Years of heads turning form great

waves behind him; the applause

reaches distant galaxies.

He is a cat. A prowler of music forests,

yet tamed. Open souls are consumed

without resistance. He walks the confidence

others fail to own.

Motion serves him.

He follows only himself.

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