Jupiter Jazz: Session I

Outside it’s blue
And snowing.
Jupiter, coming up again
Over the staggered horizon
Of buildings,
Casts a shadow,
Freezing.
Brief bursts
From the vent warms
Our apartment
As I look down
On the streets and see
Bundled bodies of dealers,
Bunched bands of scarves
Around drag queen necks;
Hunched and kneeling heroes
Of the back alleys and under-dealings
Making one final round.
I listen to him
Playing semisweet saxophone,
Alto notes capture the cold
And bind me.
Cream light of the bedside
Lamp beaming,
Ashes kicking up from
The half finished cigarettes
In the tray.
The lingering smoke
Of his finished cigarette
Dancing
With the melody
Of the dénouement.



Jupiter Jazz: Session II

He starts
A new piece,
And I leave
The window sill,
Walking past him
In a half elipse,
My hand lightly gracing
His shoulder.
He doesn’t stop playing.
I turn off
The hallway lights
And approach
The shower.
I turn the hot knob
On high and
Undress with the door
Open.
He’s looking over
His shoulder at me,
Naked,
Through the darkness,
Playing, now,
To the rhythm
Of the shower:
Warm and steady
And melting.
I pull back
The shower shade
And step into
Waltzing water.
I can tell that
He’s turned his back.
He changed the key,
The rhythm is slow,
The tones are low.
He’s looking outside now;
Playing to the rhymes
Of the cold pressing
On the other side
Of the window panes,
The wandering white notes
Of Callisto snow.
 

Coffee Shop: Session I

I light
A cigarette
And climb
the hill
Into town.
I reach
A dark window,
Sit down
outside.
Half an hour
too early.

I sip
Warm, bitter,
Thick, smooth
Black coffee,
And write.
The workers
Talk among
Themselves,
And give me
Free refills.

Childhood
Then hidden
Written on
Thirty pages,
Front and
Back filled.
Outside,
The child
Lights another
Cigarette.
 

Coffee Shop: Session II

Sweet and sharp,
Warm coffee
Tingles my throat.
Sitting in
The back corner,
Watching people,
Sipping sweet.

            Bland colors,
            Dim insight,
            Dumb characters.
            Stupid story.
            I crumple
            A world
            And drop it
            On the floor, frowning.
            Sipping sweet.

I take
A bite
Of a cherry scone
And wash it
Down
By sipping sweet, smiling.

Another bite
I lift
The cup, but
The sweet is gone.

            I put it down,
            Time to leave.
            Outside
            In the cold
            My mouth
            Is dull and dry.

 

Fairest of the Seasons

Chrysanthemums’ perfume enchants, but
Rosehips and ice are essential
Ingredients for a perfect autumn night air.
Crystalline flakes and crimson waves of sundown,
And bitter cold whispers through an endless forest;
Its musical nectar breathes blackberry
Against my frosted windowpanes.
All enveloping, comforting, freezing white; an
Endless plain of blank, glittering in waning sunlight.
This is the flurrying ecstasy
On the bare branches of my thought-dreams