Treasure Island

Smoky Hoss

(01 may 1962 / U.S.A.)

Jazz


Far flung flights of fancy
on wings and things
in songs with gongs
of lavendar lollypop licks
and purple popsicle sticks -
the merrits of men
with minds like mice
crude cadences
secluded smoke
and organs of ice -
the feminine fallaciousness
with curves and nerves
stares and glares
mountains of madness
and sensuous blurbs -
caution signs
yellowed with the times
riven with redolent reds
and garrulous greens
and all those fractured frictions of the mind -
the vanquished have vanished
leaving leperous lizards
with chicken gizzards
at the waning wake
of a once sensuous snake -
a fusion of lost loves
and dreams of the dead
simple psychodelic sensations
meant to humble the heart
and hypnotize the dead -
in the last long song
the room goes gray in gravity
you see me
I see thee, and
through it all, like jazz, we still combine perfectly -

Submitted: Sunday, February 09, 2014
Edited: Monday, February 10, 2014

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  • Patti Masterman (2/10/2014 12:40:00 PM)

    A lot of fine imagery in here. Lots of feeling, nuances of living..
    We are all so much more identical than we would ever expect, I think. (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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