b.z. niditch | improvisation no. 12


The way a note
syncopates on a page
le jazz hot, yes
here in Paris
in a fusion of sound
as intonation shifts
its scoring peaks
effacing our pastime
as running fingers
work up
to the farthest limits
of dividing lips
surprising the breath
on our alto sax
highlighted by
handwritten notes
turning in our heads
getting the drift
from our lungs
in different positions
of a punctured flow
at edgy rolling scales
as perpetual motion
never closing
as if destiny flares
to zeroing in at you
at this very moment
untangling words
at worlds end
standing on
the heights
of the Eiffel tower
holding hands
of a music Muse
in the same memory
where woodwinds
intoxicate the cool air
to a deafened earth
and you are blown away.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.