Together they lamented a generation with newspaper vision
In a mesh perspective, young and old
I have a bad habit of falling
In love
Everywhere I go, said young
Is that jazz on your record player?
I do believe it is becoming my most passionate affair of all
Each
Skiddly-doo bahp, *** dum walk, deedly-dee
And keyed swung run
Are like wild spirals of fireworks, tie dyed tentacles swirling about
Hugging my weightless all-ear, a train for fractal tracks on-spot created
I hear their hoof beats, and I think zebras
He told old how he intended to learn
To morph his pain to bop
And achieve the wordless cohesion of sardine schools
Through plucked coiled steel, if it cost him all his years
He knew the notes, but now he would conjure color
And shade them through his pineal prism
Until his dancing phalanges could spill coral reefs and sunsets
Old told him how music had saved his life
And in the war he was permitted to leave his truck
To press on black and white, tamed but untrained
The Japan grand was lame, but officers smiled
Some night, he said, when you're smashed and uninhibited
Gather your tools and let your inner self become a melody
When you manage to break your gates in sobriety
You will be an artist
Listen to the wind
Beauty is improvised
He handed young his authored book, which carefully he'd signed
Never lose it friend; your greatest gift is your appetite
They sat in his office while the record spun a standard
Fuzzy magic rang out forever, it seemed
Like signals to space or whale songs through the depths
Most listeners are scared to lose control
Ashes piled as the fire died
But young knew his never would
Him and jazz had fallen in love
That night, he knew he'd lived