NOVEMBER  2007

Can You Hear Us?
audio version mp3

My muse is no one you know, not a dream woman,
not anyone you saw me with lately as we recreate
ourselves in each other’s image. Gods to one
another, we spend rare moments of ego swapping
soul and progression, jiving on the jazz scene’s
blue calling, trading licks for what we both want.

Don’t expect to dig this unless you hear us. 

We both performed at Tortures of the Damned
Café Bar and Grill, sat with swing-a-loners
dying of second hand boredom in one of those
loser-friendly places, designed to spend eternity
in what always turns out to be someone else’s
utterly surreal stroke of Chagall painting of hell.

The poetry and imagery comes much later on.

I sat a barstool away from her and murderers or
the deeply disturbed only a hic-up away from
disaster where people discuss walking in on
so-and-so while in naked flagranté and euphoria.
We glance at one another, agreeing, we’ve never
seen people doing it except in the movies & TV.

Like a Hindu goddess she wears heavenly bells;

and of course, we long to be together, caught up
in the flesh and fire of the moment, but that’s
why we do art instead, because all our loves have
been too tall, too skinny, too hot or too cold, while
the two of us are like stepping into a warm bath.
Tho our bodies are familiar, all her karma bells are

Ringing.
 

Photo by Eugene Brown

Copyright Jimmy Warner, 2010