upon leaving for a night of Sheisty Jazz

social circle  cigarettes, cheap cologne
ring round
warm puddles,
ripples

heat eminating from subterranean
caressed by the chill of the night
your lifestyle is           blank
wandering eyes
girls
dangerous conclusions high rise before cognitive
sifting
bright lights lining the cracked arch skies
throw naked glimpses


the Duke, the Prince’s brother, of Essex
and Prince Edward IV of royal Brittany
I presume?


black is bare greed
bare like a hooker’s identity

headed for some sheisty jazz
even though we’ve been down this steel canyon before.
I like this walk a lot.

and

yes
i can feel the music in his eyes
but I cannot help but think it is merely a shadow cloud, a reflecting pool of all that’s inside him. what we hear is only a trace of what he knows to be.
audibility is 1/10th of it all. 



how did you know it was my birthday?
“man, that’s what its all about”