- Telling Question
I
soul will wear a groove in a thing when vigor sets up shop in the heart a meaty tank metronome—consistent engaged and every attachment is a well-kept butler
fingers seduce polished elephant tusks beyond an indurate posture of a pose like a blessed question isn’t being asked so what
cold kiss of skin and tusks slows for lows to climb underneath stringy attitude begging for timed tugs to tear through a hollow formation a throaty thing bouncin’ ‘long like a Harlem Globetrottin ball ‘gainst polished pecan would thrust into the tight zigzagging space where it always blooms lingers as long as it can like smoke until the next pull the next tug at the row of moanin’ tendons laying the atmosphere for query so what [End Page 875] a mood moved on you as a crisp cloud in a lit sky coupled string and percussive alluding smooth groove-85 keys some black some white just all gettin’ along so bold so filled with nerve as a genital is to ask in an era of putrid baseless no’s to tell is a hidden strength in the question so what a strength whispered in a hi hat’s crisp shimmer beatin’ a tinny consistency with each fade leaving mere milliseconds of space for a slippage of jive to creep in to ever creep in creep up like a wafted burning thing you can’t see could surprise the same as a smoldering uppercut that could’ve been a kiss or the second uppercut a fire you never saw coming for Miles
II
In the neck It jams It jams in the neck
gesture of investigation rolling neck leaking yes smooth jerks like oil dapped between the vertebrae lips tucked into silver-plated molding [End Page 876] molded to skin muting speech the way to play a horn if a horn got to be played squeezing through the roar of a hungry bass as a potent droplet through a plastic Pasteur pipette hovering layered stitching of sound prying at the seams with a question so what
Clear tinting shiniest hue of blue you knew you had ears to see a chorus supporting this modal feat like the colors of a mood ring do ride you slumber a phase all the same a process into which one wonders but never records can’t put a finger on black shirt of skin tight-roping on the perimeter of a chord so what
III
you can’t clinch if you’re not in you’re not in if you’re not cool The math is: cool is a factor of blue you’re not cool when you’re not you
throat gusts flow the libido of all saxes is teased through the conquer metal hollow hook pearl buttons cased [End Page 877] in two brown finger cages setting it free with each flex so what
punctured with skies disguised as holes windows to speak through creating craters singed through brass a demanding song’s passion anguished by the body
containing a song blue in its tinge & feet growing out underneath the melody like a limb so when it sings it will also dance
now with an instrument to coat it is lacquered with groove prowling its way through a flexing staff anything but a laggard swiftly musical fitness Trane—ing a half note to live years beyond two counts as rare as more muscle maintained through a coma to trance over a muse unknowingly sticking with it but with a pleasure a trill that tickles you a lover who skims the skin of your feet
God a scribe-ing a religion praiser what makes him a spiritual man that got way too deep in the flesh a shepherd in the field for air good and religious like jazz like jazz ain’t got no religion so you think so what [End Page 878]
IV
mellow like soothe effortless like cruise bitch to return and learn the home you knew took a toll blew a hole through the muse
medicine coats the pain of a lover that can’t be kissed
a rendezvous you hunger...