I hear shouts of rapture Laced with pain. But deep at Coltrane's tenor. For three transcendent seconds. Soul of jazz is a hungry blues. By morning they're gone.
Crumbs hide behind the kettle While a sleeping motor purrs.
Soul of jazz feeds my home Soothes pain that won't move out With moist green arpeggios. The plants rejoice. Materials contained within this site may not be used without permission.