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Click hereLilting sweet melody,
dying through the air
in a syncopated stream of soft
notes running together like rain,
soft, sensual messages of delight
buffeting ears' to a midnight trance.
From Third and Fairfax these echoes
drip and shift out of Shelley's Man Hole,
while patrons fingersnap applause
drinking, wondering, pondering this journey
across minefields of change.
On the other side harmonics crash
and bang together fierce, yelling,
"How the hell can you get all these people
into such a small room ?"
"'N' where's all this smoke comin' from?"
Smokin' up on the stage
Ringin' 'gainst one another,
Playing harmonic tectonics.
Draining like Trane
Burnin' like Mulligan
Sometimes just a driftin' their minds sideways
In the thinking multi-meter rhythms
Of Brubeck and Desmond,
Soft voices of a
New time, a new thought.
New philosophies wander through
The downtown lights as
The moon grows cool above us,
Lookin' out for the blues
While audiences 'cipher
A message from the Mother tongue,
Hearing everything so clearly,
So distinctly, so beautifully.
Little phrases out of Miles' brass,
Dancing through the air, jumpin' smoke ring to smoke ring
Pulling up the hairs on top of our heads
And making our hearts throb
To a beat of symbiotic African rhythms,
Tickled by Boesendofer over long layers
Of single-chord harmonies, stacked to the ceiling
With ninths, elevenths and thirteenths.
So many signposts that we're puzzled
By which fork to take, which path to turn --
Yet diggin' this echo of blue so hard
That it's like melting maple syrup and butter,
Cascading down the sides of Mama's
Warm pancakes warming our hearts
As it fills our bellies with a blue pudding of cool.
This labor of love,
This contraction of divinity,
This subtle, somber, scintillating
Birth of the cool,
Laying across the sands of West Coast
Beaches like seals on a Summer's day --
Delightful,
graceful,
blue.