Mercies at  juxtapositional refinement
Abandoned constitutional confinement
Handshakes on the bridged ligaments

The sweet melodious serene dreams fleets
One after the other like peculiar inventions
The mellow scenes of frames realignments

Wonderful crafted words verses paradigm
Harmonic jazz awesomeness, decode freeness
Orchestral spontaneity drills pragmatic energy

Yet, as the gingered steams rise from the hot brew
The scented breeze of life vaticinates with a smile afar
Whispers of "no obligation, no expectations" reverbs..... on and on....on and on

We link our minds
you are our mother
Direct us to the sun
Art, Love, Music, Rebel
a Warrior, eyes open
Wide mouth muse, give us our religion
Moon salutation, give us new praise
Reconnect, Brothers
Sisters, Reconnect
All the people of the earth
come greet your creator
The sun made stars on her cheeks
and eyes as dark as her skin
Sweet fire of the spirit
you give us rebirth
you give us ***** baptism
Shake free your slave name
follow the beat of the drum
the universal rhythm
She screams and blood runs hot
She lowers herself to the ground
She stand high with the masses
A teacher of humanity
of jazz and blues
hip hop rimshot soul
Culture that may not be ours
Still welcomes you
if you learn to feel

Still so framed as promising
Even as the circumstances have changed.

Universe back in spirals,
Your eyes back in crystal lattice.

There is a particular way that the rain falls, gravity in mind when it does — severe,

When I'm reading rounds in between your lines.

You sit on the throne of the new regime.
Broke the idea the kind to be cruel is true when etched in stone.

De Stijl Darling.
Dutch Babe.

You stage this art-fiend Heaven,
Hypercatalyst blood into reality.

Handful of sudafed,
Your effect is the same,
When we shot through your canopy,
Sun on your hair —
Natural illuminated manuscript.

I hope you've latched on to me.

Fancy gowns flitting around swaying to the soft jazz,
stopping to mingle with a glass of wine in hand,
or sitting solemnly at scarlet clothed table.

I sit alone, staring into a glass that helps drown my past.
A hand reaches out,
a smile so soft it's able to make those years fade
the years of pain and loss, the year of the most bitter winter
“come and dance with me”

Closing in on what looks like new
    beginnings.

I'll listen, momentarily, but do the same for
    me, because I'm starting to develop an
    independent sense of worth.

Isn't it a strange occurrence, with this warm
    air, that you told me that the weather
    would never change?

It will change by definition.

We each sell ulterior motives, the prices
    vary, the markup may look sinister, but all
    is considered to pass things along.

Profit isn't your only agenda, or anyone's at  
    all, with the world trying to get ahead, and
    I too... manipulative.

I'd rather not be thinking about your
    shattered mirrors, promises, and
    friendship on the first hours of my  
    adulthood.

The Flowered Bearer told me that livers hold
     importance — I'm inclined to agree.
With that in mind, restrain yourself from
     pouring your toxic filth into me.

Not tonight, at very least.

Visions of mystics that I surely didn't see,
But genuine was the mother of an ancient love—
Funny to think of it all marred in equal parts spiritualism and consumerist *******,
And all of them ignorant to the Kansas City memories they conjure.

Make everything around you like Jazz.
Some variation of jazz;
Cowboy Bebop, 3rd Strike,
Folk Music, Dress in Yellow,
Moon Knight or Doom [PhD]?,
Zero, Coffee or Water,
Late night chinese food for dinner.

Sleep on floral patterns.
Flannel.
Hang Christmas lights inside.
White T-shirts.
Hello Kitty.

Feminism + Nihilism,
Ethnicity? Are you half black,
or
half white
?

Make everything around you Jazz,
or some variation, write music,
write a poem, try to move on.
Stay autonomous.
Keep teaching yourself.

I don't know, I guess.
I was trying too hard to be brilliant,
however, **** it I'm a genius,
and brighter than a million suns,
and they might never look at me,
but at least I'd know why.

Stay autonomous. Teach yourself.
Make everything some variation of jazz.

It seemed like a good idea.

Hear my voice.
It starts from the lungs and propels through my throat
Rattles my trachea and obeys the manipulation of my oral cavity
Next on up through that of another vessel
Incessantly passing through the body
Behind furious fingers articulating words from a soulful dictionary
And out through the
Liberty
Bell.
Listen to my voice.
Its timbre is not that of natural beings, but
the content flows from my brain as a second nature
My instrument is my vessel,
My opportunity to voice that which cant be spoken.
Listen and be heard.

words ramble out
like notes through Mile's horn
or smooth strokes on the keys by Bill

poetry and jazz collide as a rhythm of sound and beats
echo through my heart and soul

love of music and words fuses inside of me
and comes out as cacophonous mix of sound