Braced,
For the rough, graceful sandpaper offered
by the saxophonist while he woos you with
outright randomness arpeggiated.
The titanic soul of the double-bass
quivers my body,
it lives in the catacombs of my ribs.
And,
I'm jazzed.
Pure chaos,
with a complete understanding of order
but a gleeful disregard.
"I could do that."
Then do it.
And, exhale.