Jazz, it’s fly/so high.

Languid slow, cool blow.                 

Hep cats 

seek: 

familiar faces,

guitar phrases,

smoked out places.

   Discordance melds,

rhythm flows,

drums staccato,

receptive souls,

cool cats say go-go.

  Grab the heat.

Buddy beat 

in hot jazz suite.

Up hard, so 

tight against it.

 Bruise that tune 

till tender sweet. 

Notes stack up, as

sharps sit flat.

 Booze fuelled 

schmoozers grind 

dig the groove…

It’s smokin’.

   Hear them lick 

their blue note way.

Stanley fingers, hazy 

zingers… bass blurs.

 Fights for heat 

in solo space.

Imbibing tattered applause.

 Inside you

 sound builds

thumps your chest, 

  bass hard.

So go figure, as

piano tonk Chick 

hits those keys.

 You gotta move.

 Trumpet picks its 

Miles high 

 sharp notes

spit

  wet spray. 

 These

droplets spark, 

a spotlight’s path.

 Jazzing tales 

heads burn,

float neural highways,

horizon’s byways.

Time to split?

   Naw this cat stays. 

©️ Dai Fry revised 24th April 2020.