Bebop Line

I would not feign when sleeping felt
stiff & still where dreams
go fleeting,
that alone your myopic citizen
dragged its heavy load –

O      I bore the difference
my ease
delighting you, forbearing.

Tin wash of piano
rising in smoke
off subterranean barstools,
mantels of re(sub/di)vision

Bwah waah waaaahhh
go the trumpets’ sounds,
each metallic indecision
mapped out across the cries of centuries,

reminding that to love
is really just to

hold    on    to ,

expectant –
convinced of the very joy of life. 

Jonathan Creasy