When I heard your jazz improvisation
I craved the taste of a fine confection
Your synths were the flame that roasted my heart
Drunk with the notes, your sweet wine collection

a dancer’s heart
can not be ripped apart

it moves to the sound of a saxophone
a lovely noise of jazzy notes
that warms you like a winter coat

it swings to the melodies
and receives all these remedies

it carries the passion in every step,
moves slowly and feels holy

a dancer’s heart can’t fall apart
it’s filled with peace and joyfulness
it carries love and is sweet like a ****.
a dancer’s heart is a piece of art.

- gio

Jazz is a free flying bird which sings
you cannot clip its scarlet wings
passion mixed with ice and fire
the burning flame of sweet desire

Chess in the
afternoon sun.
Jazz floats over
the silky couch.
Backs ache, while
hearts break.
Bishop takes knight,
and France falls again.

The masks are all
broken under the
cerulean blue skies,
while she eats berries,
and smiles in her
pink polka dot dress.
The pawns are all smug,
and queenie's on the rag.
Italy surrenders, and from
the grave, Charlie Parker
still hammers home
those soft amber notes.
I can smell her heat, and
I think they play
Jazz in hell.

-

last night i met a wolf  
in a dream where
i was in a car with
the door decidedly open

listening to a radio that
was playing
some soft jazz
on a distant station.

i look and— there He was !!
right next to me sitting
just inches away.

He said (woof) "Hello" with a
mild but manly voice, this fellow
was well over two hundred lbs.

i said "hello" back as He sniffed
at the side of my leg briefly
and then looked at me with

friendly eyes and an expression
which seemed –to me– like
a gentle smile.

He then said (woof) "I just wanted
you to pet me for a minute–
hopefully you wont mind"

so i did..

perhaps it was the scent of what i sprayed
on as i made my way out, or maybe
how the boots surrounded my
thighs a couple of inches
above my knees as the
wind blew across
my skirt like a
gesture—

and then a voice on
the radio shouted,

"You should be Parked !!"

I woke...


s jones
2021


.

Curling tendrils of tobacco haze
engulf the tiny space, hang like
ringlets over shots of whiskey
and mugs of warm beer. A solitary
dancer moves, bracelets janglin’
and eyes heavy with kohl, captures
old men in mid drink as her hips
sway to Nina Simone. Her bronze skin
glistens with the hot stares of the
audience; she soaks it in, twirls on
bare feet in perfect time as the
high priestess of soul bewitches
us with heavy grooves. I close
my eyes, tap fingers against glass,
whisper Nina’s words into the smoke
and breathe them back in again.
This is jazz, I think out loud,
this is pure unadulterated heat.

There’s a jazz Christmas in my mind

that other, impossibly cool cats
seem to have,

but I have never found