Poem for The Oliver Jones Trio at the Jazz Bistro 11/24/2016

Poetry is Jazz, the words we don’t say.

Missing beats and rhythms of fractured minds –

Playing the tunes that hang between our words

But the truth is, nobody listens to jazz anymore.

*

Rhythm, deviation, improvisation.

Squeeze tight, the world slipping between fingers

If you want for want for want, don’t say words.

Nobody cares about our missing words.

*

Poets and players matter to nobodies.

For life is about the notes we don’t play.

Should I say, everything will be okay

*

Repetition, rhythm, meter, scale.

Sifting in the dark, old scratches sing sweet,

In tune on page, nobodies have it all.

*

Nobodies care about the missing notes

Nobodies’ got about the words we didn’t say

Repetition, improvisation, end.

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