Ghostly scars searching; murky and lively waters provide a forceful and ill advised navigable pull of a wave. The seas play tug-of-war with me and this rueful rolling mix of waves, as ill-tempered breezes under a sailor’s dead moon illuminates in silence the cold ships that are still afloat on bludgeoning white caps of yesteryear.

This old pirate moon hangs freely while singing ‘bout our lord, and death –shapeless now and not conforming, it sails in the black beauty of space-time reaching out with its waspishly fingers attempting to eat a foray of phantom ships in the blackish night.

Churning old waves, it stirs the gulls in flight, which are quietly viewed from the mast of those ghost ships that once plied the seas, searching still, and seeking those turbulent clouds that resemble an old sailor in the dizzying stillness among liquid moonbeams and their razor-like glow;

“Oh, the shark,
Babe, she has such teeth, dear / and it shows
                             Those pearly whites”…

Your whispered messages are a potent voice.
And every splash sounds like applause among the jagged rocks along my imagination’s coastline...
How deathly afraid was i now of your hurtful waves?
Flowing outward with an undulating motion, a forceful agitation-
Revealing my reflection, now anchored to this mournful nightlight,
                  
                  Illuminating the "uh-oh's" swimming across
my cold sailor’s
trembling mouth-


by "ooznozz"

Th’ blackassboo smile comes easily off this way-out hardened jazznik, and with it a color palette collage of a cool cat stretching out when percolating his musician’s lips.

There’s nimbleness with a dash of a braggarts swagger…
Something that artists of the beat generation popularized.
Craving for some wall breaking, door busting,
And genre shaping daddy-o jazz poems of jocularity,
Titillation with wistful windblown musical notes for an ear massage.

Sounds come in colors between the chants of encore in the flickering space between these fantastical moments with me, Exhilaration urges adventure from the magic that follows.

Bop-soul imagery and a romantic assemblage of what is hip...
An impassioned audacity distinguishes itself in the rousing unapologetic antiestablishment zeal of me; reciting off -
Some cool verse.

Finger snapping with both crackle n pop madness for the new hot. (I need to) go, Go, GO, and explore this incarnation and birth of boplcity -The jazz man's skills aren’t influenced by vagaries of faith…

Dear JAZZ ANGELS on uploaded clouds of notes floating and changing shape. PERFECT. Unbelievable

Resonate the heavily infused bop MUSIC n POETRY molecule with a Lend Me Your Ear skin in the game, Arise relaxed tempos and lighter tones, a total higher consciousness where countless hours of the best jazz music 'round derives a perceived feeling from this **** mindfuck content. A blessing fer sure.

I’m not religious but this is god speaking through music.
There’s a thumbs up, with multiple stars flying out the tips.
Smiling, playing, simply slammin'
an intensity of full attention…

And with it comes a common pulse with a common purpose
what we have is a peeling off of flawlessness, carefree yet with a deep reverence for the musicality’s soul.

I communicate with the laid-back higher forces in this universe; I like the snap on it.

Dazzling intelligence and a force that transcends –
To deliver such a great sound full of love, emotion, and beyond.
Sounds crest into jammin’ hard driving improv,
which shapes th’ musical poetic on intertwined waves of the highest fidelity...

O bloated jazz blues and decibels dance t'ballyhoo'd be-bop flung,
While lighting up a music note, on th’ purest candle, & 'morrow's serendipity will help us see that heavenly ladders rung.

This quenches the thirsty, cleaning my atmosphere;
(A) Beautiful losers timelessness, coupled with an “I hear ya” manifesto sound trip o' crazy kewl elegance!

Music is the best!


by "ooznozz"

Wormy gorgon of the fugly garbage gorgon's has a very sad an' lowly life indeed. She curses an' antagonizes a cancer fighter instead of sending her sincere good wishes an' a heartfelt expressed Godspeed.

On her best day, she exemplifies all the characteristics of a mean spirited, moronic jag off misanthrope whose only desire is to plant a very bad weedy seed. Her angry tongue splinters an' then bullies.
My wish is t’have fingers of tumultuous jostle you – attempting to throw you hard toward kingdom-come…

Human suffering,
“Can this drama, the supreme embodiment of the human condition, possibly be okay?”
My stomach knots.
---------------------------
Often not much has changed in our actual life –
Yes, I get into the same bed each night trying to go to sleep,
Thinking that if I look away,
You might be gone by the time I look back.

(This has been) a Creeping ode to the aftereffects of a small minded twerp…

by "ooznozz"

Uh oh,
That smile curls up like page corners; it masquerades
As great power with great social rewards
Profound body language…?
Jus' a few words are spelled out with expression ‘round those lips
And then reads as such - “please, **** me”
I must remember and promise myself to practice
... Safe text!


by "ooznozz"

Jus’ remember princess and I say that fondly, that “looking at cleavage is like looking at the sun. You don’t stare at it ‘cause it is all too risky. You get a sense of it and then you look away!”

by "ooznozz"

i used to control and command - now, one day i started telling everyone that god ******, something must’ve gone wrong. My brain had been dissolved in the roaring circuitry that flows far within this skull beneath the skin…

i’m playing tug-of-war with this rueful rolling mix of fading memories, truth blackens all vision while remorse burns introspection until blurred.

i am helplessly helpless, no restoration. It’s uncensored, uncontained, and thoroughly problematic as whirlwinds of self-analysis trigger a flapping numb. It isn't a question of if, but “when will” the shadows be caught in the act…
i’ve been marked it’s finished, done -
And as result, i have No voice (it’s been turned off), there’s no strength of decency …And certainly no laughter.

i bemoan, “There’s so much bitterness and bad memories consigned”…My ghostly scars are a potent drug, and i’m knocked to my knees. Yes, the ticking clock comes singing / all angry and accusatory.

i bemoan, “That which is pushed eventually must fall over”
And freedoms breath is cupped with this action, a suffocating squeeze,
And maybe even… It’s all scary especially when i hear the question echo from your lips -

What hurts?


By “ooznozz”