b.z. niditch | harmony blues


A new moon
slants on the roof
a shade of Bird
plays out in memory
heaving ephemeral riffs
in the allusive air
while here down town
on the ground here
is a welter weight
boxer and bouncer
who tumbles, tosses
a few punches
to zero in to me
almost whimsically
in his seasoned step
like at the Harlem ring
who lets this kid in
for free at the door
with his pawned sax
in an old Moroccan case,
hears my rush of notes
to save my breath
for my reed
that sounds on my lips
spiraling echoes
of an underground beat
with unnamed tunes
as harmony Blues covers
the unrehearsed dusk
of newly consumed patrons
punch drunk
with high expectations.

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