Real time straight jazz

curved the room.

Its ribbons of play formed justice

to notes,

releasing streams of fever.


Unconnected sounds rush over

a landscape of faces

and whispering fingers.


The pulse of breathing

mists the windows

as dancers and spirits of long nights

course their path to dawn.


Red dusted words

lip from his mouth,

falling out, tumbling,

evolving into the salt of fullness,

a flavor unique to

his sweat.

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