Tranes

With Coltrane on a midnight train,
drinking darkness in the blur that dashes
past, the past is stalking silhouettes that
pass, they pass, shying from the tunes
that they abhor. I hear big black saxes
wailing at the world.

And I think of you.

With Coltrane on a midnight train,
marauding musically in dark sunglasses,
and jazz, the jazz of wheels on tracks that
crash, they crash in syncopated canter,
with a horn, a horn that sings a last
warning to the world.

And I think of you.


~01-05/09