THE PATH

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.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s