Photo of Miles Davis at Lennies-on-the-Turnpike, 1968 - Poem by Cornelius Eady
New York grows
In his absence.
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Of Miles, his leathery
Squint, the grace
In his fingers a sliver of the stuff
You can't get anymore,
As the rest of us wonder:
What was the name
Of the driver
Of that truck? And the rest
Of us sigh:
Death is one hell
Of a pickpocket.
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Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
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Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You