Tuesday, September 2, 2008


the house smelled of
Heineken and parliaments
always seeming dimly lit
smoky, sad walls and cold floors
that watched me enter silently
hours after dark had fallen quietlyto abandoned suburban streets
your piano played with musical scars
from angry days of time signature bludgeons yet,
your hands were elegantweapons of your trade
handing me the blues in syncopated time
smooth tunings of a radio dial on the am audible waves
with curving lines of bass clefs wrapping from your hands to mine
forgetting days of those who held too tightly
some men do not leave marks
I remember you would say while playing miles davis
and introducing me to a thing called jazz music
still leaving imprints deep through my skin
like audible tattoos,
turning the walls in the room to deep cobalt blues,
saxophone telling this sad story
with notes like tears,
spitting syncopated
the rhythms from my silent fears, my insides
all wrapped up in your outsides
deep set eyes that never saw the light
your heart had a downbeat from jump street
keeping time with my memory line
turning my sorrows into sweet red wine
lyrical soliloquies
you left a stain on me
from outpoured sensibility
the house smelled of Heineken and parliaments
turning my senses to something like awakening
from a sleep deprived nightmare of complancency
into artistic reawakenings

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