We'll Call It Poetry

Just havin' fun with words

Jazz, like jazz
like rain, like jazz:
Droppin' beats
and half-measuresin between the streets
of black water.
Like jazz, we say
words as notes
on musical scale
in between
the mix and go;
a look into your soul.
Feel the rhythm
take you down
and up and
here and there.

We go up down
like jazz goes straight
on crooked wheels
haulin' freight
down to Boxina
with the box cars,
ol' Jack, Don.
The wine like jazz,
like poetry, like jazz.
In the middle
of the woods.
Lost in fear
and surrounded
by beauty.

Devil be down
nowhere up here,
he lives in the streets;
like jazz, he waits.
Plays on the dead
notes the main attraction.
He is one with you
like jazz, like June,
but we call it poetry.
Why now, not then,
or whenever you thought
your jazz could make bread?

The End

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