Read and Critique.

Replies to This Discussion

Permalink Reply by Meta-Physical on November 23, 2009 at 4:06am

Jazz was a finger-snap
in a sequined dress,
a harlequine smirk at grey fedoras,
two clicking red pumps
across the dance floor,
and a room full of dancing smoke.

Jazz was magic -
the type of magic that only happened
in places the moon couldn't reach,
before the stage,
behind bricks,
and inbetween saddened strings
weary of the blues
and wearier of it sexiness.

Jazz was the heart of Harlem,
the throbbing jugular of New York,
the blood pumped into the sewers
and out of the fowl mouths
of cool cats
in a dope war.

Jazz was the mother
with inky thighs,
the father of all illegitimate children,
a saxophone's wailing prostitute -
push her buttons right
and everyone would sigh.

Jazz was the midnight shadow,
burning lips uptight,
skirts loosened,
arms that didn't know where to land
and legs that didn't know how
to end...
nights that couldn't find the day
again.

Jazz was...

Jazz IS...

Jazz
is my
musical
sexuality.

Snap.