After Nine In the Evening
There is a wave of New Orleans music
I cannot grasp... it throbs inside me swooning,
crawling quivering as whiffs of tempo gyrate
around nine seventeen pm in a bistro:
the sax, piano, drums railing notes on crest
of wild grace, ever buoyant amid sultry air.
And I listen to a groove vibrate ,
rousing the marrow of my body
with primordial tones livening
classic groans and modern jazz--
that my hips cavort in a dance unbidden,
a fire rippling along bursts of instinctive thrill:
four hours after nine seventeen pm--
near twilight’s cadence lilting
upon my bosom-- I jam joggle jive
floating in crazed matters that no longer matter.
Brian's Strand no 770
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2018
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment