The jazz sweeps
the lonesome
form me
feeding my needs
and filling my wants
digging into deep
and pulling up
like an anchor
rising from the
a dark blue
breaking the
gold blue surface
releasing my pain
spinning it
like a top
faster into fast
onto the floor
past dancing feet
breaking the sound
into pieces
sweetened with tears
soft to the taste
sliding on the
tongue
mixed with whisky
cooled by ice
baptized with smoke
and cherished like
lipstick
waiting for me.
Roger Singer 