Lips of sweat,
Igniting catalyst tune as they burn out,
Crossed eyes, attention spreads
feeling the whiteness in pure magic.
Each memo confronts the other,
Soul cord of depth,
and for one short-lived moment.
Losing sight of reality in a stasis of oasis.
The passionate barb stick notes directly into the atmosphere.
Each message is a flood of scheme,
singing the blues, this smooth criminal
angel of birth, in your hands
luring you to a road in heaven.
The lights are all you feel;
you can see the forgotten masterpiece.
Bathing in it, as the drums go on,
the mob gathers, to feel the whiteness of the trumpet.
He is rotating his saxophone,
making love to the crowd.
His horn come with words that deepens the soul,
the crowd is mesmerized.
He extends his hands,
A standing ovation,
Slamming and whistling,
Louder than thunder,
Mr. Jazz man is done
With no condom at all……………………….