Jazz
Staccato-ed and fleeting in full,
the lulling beat somehow lazy
hazily sauntering away
honeyed notes broken on the pavement like sparkling glass
glittering and useless,
passing throaty smoke like cigarettes
betting that the wet pulse
of sound pounding roundly loudly
down will slicken, thicken
smooth;
slathering music on the shimmering
cadence of sweat and breath
crowding the room—
winking and buzzing;
catching light.
This poem is about:
Our world