Saturday, January 11, 2014

B.Z. Niditch- A Poem


Just at the moment
the dusk sun hits
the red brick
on the new year
by my sound proof studio
the latent fog dissipates
its rain pouring tear
at a now loveless last memory
from off the Bay
and a jazz player
stands by an open window
on the basement floor
in the dim electric light
for a time such as this
between two flat notes,
seasons, hours,moons
humming with ignominy
the same exercises
always with the repeated
sinking sadness of an E flat
dying for the snow kissing reed
of a lost urchin's voice
who is still a runaway adolescent
dreaming verses
from palpitating nights
of the human alto sax
waiting for my cool soundings
to open up at my gig
beyond the city limits.

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