Ziplock Bags
Seeking hope and sharing peace. Or is it the other way around? I mostly forget, but here is where I remember.Archive for jazz
We’ve never listened to Jazz at the tavern before
We’ve never listened to jazz at the tavern before
Blues bleed improvisation into our inebriated veins
and its spontaneity feels like too much for us to handle.
davis
gillespie
coltrane
Jukebox plays as we stroll
Leaving our pride at the entrance
Along with the fags in
the bucket of
Sand by the door.
Fitzgerald
Holiday
Minnie
Fifty Cents a song makes perfect non-sense
(Worth every lack of penny)
Old men stare
Fake Id’s expire
And red ash trays are given away as
Tokens of non-compliance with the law.
carrabba
mayer
matthews band
Maybe we are just trying to find our souls.
Catching the tune of cigarettes
With our hands tied behind our backs
Drunken promises being sealed
By shady proposals
weezer
greenday
cranberries
An intentionally
unintended Polaroid could not save us
Haikus commit seppuku
On broken bushido
And before you know it.
We are gone.
Crossing walks.
Racing home.
(If we are lucky there is a soundtrack)
Hoping to find some solace
under the familiarity of
darklightspictureswordspamphletsletterssalvation=marijuana
And a yellow triangle.
(where things seem to be as they should
A lot like listening to Jazz at a tavern)
