Streets feed on the language of

cool and jive.


Tongues of curtains slip

from sides of windows

as if pointing with their

curves with creases

to music

like steam rising

in waves over blacktop

rumbling energy

the sound moves

pressing against doors

and into alleys

as night encourages

the people to open

packages wrapped

with jazz

banging drums

and lifting bass

well past midnight

without rest until dawn

when streets claim

the language to start




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