Poetry

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Tripping harmonics, cloud-cooled clarinets
coax a shrouded soul from behind it's mast
"Summertime" insists the jazzy cascade

rouses resisting timbers
still clutched in Chimera's last embrace
A sea of rotting flotsam, jutting rocks
"and the temperatures rising"

Cherub faced zephyr friends
spend their breath on my sail
caressing creases till reluctantly,
sluggishly, the lechorous grip loosens

"Your mama's rich", we shudder free,
lurch into the oily woodwind
"and your Daddy's good lookin"
Mmmm that coffee smells good

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