Distancing
By ralph
Tue, 17 Mar 2020
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Listening to Mingus preach.
His fingers and thumbs a sermon.
A lesson from a teacher learned
but rarely practiced. That of trajectory.
Today, there is a refusal of Spring.
A dirty pillowed sky, creased and still.
There are pulled up crocuses, a silent
Mosque. An absence of the revelatory.
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I think this is very good.
Permalink Submitted by onemorething on
I think this is very good. Love 'a refusal of Spring' and the 'dirty pillowed sky'. I'm not a jazz fan, but this poem pretty much summed up my current state...jazz makes me feel anxious! :)
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