Tags

, ,

It’s the bold strokes of
tobacco smoke curling
through a window half-shut
from a starving apartment
out into some back alley
diffusing in the old
city air like a memory
on the act of fading
in a scene in a 60s
black and white movie
set at midnight with the
mercury vapor lamps on, and
jazz conceived in the womb
of a secondhand saxophone
chasing after dreams already
dreamed away
and bending the dark hour
into vestiges of a soul

.