Father and Son

Dreamers Are Gluttons




Over  A Bowl Of Potato And Corn Soup, Mr. Marvin Tells Me How He Castrated Baby Goats


Love Poem #1

Leather Death Fruit and Flying -- A Consideration

The Mechanic Takes on Language

135th & Crossing

It Could've Been

Kermit's Jazz

The Muse



In Time

Bottomed Out Language

Such Fears

Spreading Out Histories

Days Unfold

There is a Flutter of Noise in My Head



Kermit’s Jazz

- Baton Rouge 1996


He’s got trumpet beats in his frontal lobe

rhythm bopping brain cells, the neurons

firing, synapses catching, the whole thing some

whacked out Fats Navarro groove.

Kermit was a black man from Chicago

who found himself living in Louisiana

stomping jazz on skins and metal –

He ate sweet potato pie for breakfast.

Fork to plate, foot to beat, Kermit didn’t look for love

he called it up and entertained it

made it jump and jive like a tongue

dipped in chilies.  Who doesn’t desire that

kind of heartburn, that sweetened melody?

The woman he’s with doesn’t like jazz,

but eats it just the same. 

Originally published in Spillway

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