b.z. niditch | a city never sleeps


Nothing for a second
guess of future smiles
a city never sleeps,
I’m in my bicycle
on the side street
dusted with fog
except for the silence
of this somnambulist
carrying a pawned sax
gloved up
for a dazed set
with sheltered blues
in his tattered valice
by night bird haunts
sweeping from wood winds
into the darkened club
with a cold flashlight
to jam with a red eye,
improvisation breaks out
shielding all sights
by the lidless door
of the Savoy club
as budding sounds
over augmented notes
shine higher
from unfinished pieces,
my fingers open
on a furtive hour
tangled by mystery
embedded in lips
over assorted notes
yearning to dazzle
every fan and new friend
with spicy arrangements
like live coals and fire.

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