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
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