God Plays Jazz
Through embouchure practiced in timeless jam blowing reeds of turning wheat,bellowing fingers, smokey streets. The timbre of darkness soloing for morning through laughing streams of willow like Mr. Parker flying.Turnaround souls bargain with triplets, as trees shout call and response,two then five down the street to one until the the clouds are gone. Midnight serves up shivering blues, last call rhythm time bell tolls,as silver rivers bend and pull, mountains sing valleys roll,the U-shaped bow a canyon pass the holy bell testifies at last, from fields of cotton to night club church, the one who was last has now become first,every perfect tone easy on its own joins melodic cast, too bad pennyless drifter 'cause you're deaf to the night you'll never hear... God play Jazz.
Copyright © Ron Kempton | Year Posted 2017
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