Flip Days

Unassailable Jazz

30 Unassailable Jazz A hook and hook, to start the sound, chant of music with no meaning, the symphony of scenery renaming streets, this city’s design, which resembles a thicket, infected routes, adding meaning other than value to real estate. The medium of movement is only known in this town. A man works for heirs he may never see. Heirs wander toward mediocrity not not knowing their legacy, extolling the planet’s purpose till we sleep, without cheating passing life of its silent victories, to forget music for music to become effective again. Listening to the lusty pipes, people seldom dislike meeting, and always like meeting again, beauty’s outcropping. Is it a perfectly invisible system? One humbly realizes there is a mission in this, civilization. Memory deserving perfection in its future, (gray-by-then futures trailing) in which the heart sings against itself. . . . But this memory is cut off from its own future as one possess it fully. It’s yesterday already to tomorrow, more numbers than its math—salutary detours. 31 The morning core mistook the reach of yesteryear, refrigerator door, apricot pits or strong perfume at rocking intervals, a jetty with ten people fishing.Today, I’ll walk on the shore with my fishing gear, spend the afternoon making authentic sounds with a pneumatic chisel on scrap gold, anodized steel, falling splinters, air amusing sea, azaleas. Laughter pulling Orion. Hell, an internal music now becomes prerequisite for art, the habit of watching, telling us how the thing we are is but to compose. Each moment, perhaps a month in the making, as the galaxies get closer, as I pass into thought or thoughtlessness, beside this arbitrary sea. I listen to that which I cannot escape: the destructive Universe, the spirit finally giving in, dropping pretense that desire is everlasting. ...