b.z. niditch | cinema verite


It was in New York’s
little Italy
after the Fellini premier
of Eight and a Half
at the party
when you lost
your truthful silence
playing my sax
yet about to drop my jaw
never tongue tied,
when the two faced
music manager
ashen as Vesuvius
in his eyes,
offers as a paymaster
to get me sex
of any kind,
being an adolescent
still in love with the film
I get back to my blues
thinking I never left
the movie.

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