CONTROL

The dirt of jazz

roams like roads under his skin.

He feels the change

of his blood to hot.

Listeners drip words from warm

whiskey.

High collars and smooth

talk rolls off chairs

of night wisdom.

Eyes breathe in

an appetite of full.

A piano dresses the air

with diamonds.

Voices long like ribbons

pull at the past,

exposing places of rest.

Sleep walks with a

blanket nearby.

He pushes slumber to a

back pocket where

weakness cannot

be heard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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