Early Jazz-Mural Poem by Alex Roth

lazy sex-soaked saturday morning with my baby waiting for coffee to brew i tell her i love you she says i love you too jazz crackles blazes blares and coolly croons old-time gin-bath tunes mysterious art-deco runes shinning like flapper girl rubies in white make-up and dark livid red lip-stick looking for bright lights and a good time sleazy saxophone lust slips its sauntering self into my eager ears st. james infirmary grasps the eerie soul sleeping in my aching bones new orleans mausoleums tuxedoed bandleaders waving white gloves that caringly caress the freshly dead as they stretch and sleep i can hear these jazz singers and swingers they speak to me and nobody knows their hopeful mystery apex the universe condensed into ever writhing saxophone notes wrote from the tips of hearts arching aching for the broadcast from the invisible voice of God the wizard of oz is now seen the moment of carefree golden meadow love is wrapped around the tunes in four-dimensional unpalatable spheres ringing in eternal minds breaking the oxygen-chains for several centuries until nuclear knowledge is buried deep within the soils of lost time french cigarette curls guitar furls deep divas dominatrix the towers of crumbling concrete beauty hip-hop hypocrites hype their own bodies and destroy the great granite ghosts of a thick-gray smoking era gone by our stuffy noses seeking salvation in big-gulps cell-phones i-phones baby momma drama the record stops the music drops and my heart skips a beat