The streets are me broken chains of thought in the company of whistles and horns a subway below sidewalks of people fishing for space between crosswalks while a guitar and sax play songs for quarters and dimes all beneath a sun and clouds forming shade and shadows as the engine is motion  



In the jam of the group one note sets the tone, created within smoky circles the sound complete, a tight message of music, fingers pulling the jazz, drums striking up a beat, brushing the day aside, as the horn digs deep, the sax pushes out a raspy scratch and the bass mellows into an undercurrent … More SIDEWAYS


He was a sax man, raising the heat on the here and down, firing up stoves, cooking with jazz, pushing it with a lifting of hands, creating great sounds from reaching as the wall clock crosses over to tomorrow jumping his ride colliding with the sun, splitting the shade to shadows and jive until night … More WHERE DREAMS MELT


He left the room bruised from his music; like a fighters corner without a stool.   Strange eyes followed the linen of his walk; the breeze he caused and its wake smoothed into whispered corners.   His steps owned the path to everyplace. No door offered resistance to the warmth of his cool.   He … More BRASSED OUT