AT THE JAZZ SHOW IN CHICAGO
at the jazz show in chicago
i watched you watch the bassist
as he skimmed a piece of floss against the strings
something like sounds twisted out.
you caught your breath, closed your eyes,
then you were drinking it in the way i feel pictures,
all lusty recollection
somewhere, a bottle broke.
you didn't notice,
just slipped your hand inside your shirt
to hold your heart in.
after that i stopped watching,
i let it hit me, sunk back.
sound can turn the best eyes black.
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