b.z. niditch | improvisation no. 5

Linear counterpoint from Stravinsky’s Octet (1923)


My hand grips
the tenor sax
with ease to compose
in counterpoint
every emerging dawn
repeating a new pattern
like open streams
from Antonioni’s red desert
of consciousness
flooding my being
for a metallic resonance
in perpetual motion
as a torch song memorizes
inside my leaping heart
nothing holding me back
to glitter like the dust
of secret love notes
glittering anew
in a windy far off place
effaced by exile
wide as a sax’s exuberance
outshining the skyline
in time and phrase
from these black and white
keys taking turns
spilling out of daylight
on improvisation #5
in the rhythmic atmosphere
of augmented chords
here on a burning keyboard
my fingers always ready
to play a ruminative beat
across the universe
letting go
of the world,
now twelve toned
beyond time’s stratosphere
music like first light
restless through rays
of lemon bulb glow
in this sound proof studio
moist as tear drops
from an unattended lover
uncovering new bodies
of metal harmony
from sharps and flats,
sounds move me so
like a dazzling sunshine
on Bourbon Street.

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