NO MORE BLUES
“No more blues”,
in your handsome
framed album
without calculated love
a kid recognizes
and hears you
in my small apartment
when you turned me on
these blues
wanting to live
on every tenor sax or guitar
from Getz to Byrd
in rhythmic song
with no more reason
to hide from any height
weight, latitude or attitude
that no body
is foreign
to the bossa nova
when Brazilian tunes
flooded the air waves,
Jobim, stay with me
in the open air
of city Squares,
as one guy sang to us
his harmonic tunes
on hottest Harlem nights
or hanging out
in the Savoy or Cedar bar
or over cool jazz dance floors
up town,
your progressions
beat us out
from Rio to Marrakesh,
blasting
“No More Blues”
from watery lips
or desert dives
and no body or soul
will again feel lost
finding ourselves in you.