When flashy saxophone
red tunes streams
cross into the past
weary blues note jumps
and takes me back to Harlem’s night flame,
where I am tangled with a stranger
in a packed, dancing rent-party room
that swiftly turns dark.
There we sway, cheek-to-cheek,
holding breaths in our distant hearts,
covering with slow rhythmic moves
a sensual presence of the quartet strings
which melody stretches the union of us
all over the stars
above the flapper city milky way.
Flying on the city dreams deferred
We step into the adventurous future
following the astral lights,
which edges shine
through the void of curved bodies and their stalled, vast spots of darkness.
The future ride is
A jazzy slow steamboat
on the summer moonlight river
Where the silver glimmer
speeds to a quantum level
And transforms time
into a circumference
Of our lyric remote touchy thoughts
Interrupted by the chorus of frogs
and their rhythmic dots
as the doorway to tilted axis night holes
that hang on the continuum of the end,
where the lovers sense a fate of their last intent.
Sliding by time’s ground zero point
I sip genteelness of your witty Southern soul
Delaying with eloquence an urging want
For us to be now despite of the time’s foul.
Stream of time, like a forever new river ride,
separates us into the fragments
of broken and drowsy reflections,
which beams overlap in perceptive deceptions,
but we know
–the two ways of seeing a river-–
entangled in the dead tree float
that steams in the light glow
of the Mississippi reverse current flow.
Lengston Hughes The Weary Blues
“I got the Weary Blues,
And I can’t be satisfied.”
Langston Hughes A Dream Deferred
“What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore–
And then run?”
Mark Twain, The Two Ways of Seeing a River
“What does the lovely flush in a beauty’s cheek mean to a doctor but a “break” that ripples above some deadly disease?…”
Thanks to inspiring performance: Of Ebony Embers!