Jazz

I wrote this late last night after coming home from a jazz show. Written more as prose, I just wanted to share this with you guys.

Coming late in the set all alone, too late for all the other old fogies after the poetry reading in the little basement bar, coming in late, the band is really rolling, the piano grooving and swaying, the guitar howling out jelly and cool carnal dialing in the die, and oh man! man that drummer! best drummer I've seen in this little city laying it down solid and hard using the amplifier when his kit wasn't enough to satisfy his lust for pow! and try! All three playing ideas and thoughts just as relevant, maybe more! today as the day Duke penned em down on a train ride to a late gig and I'm shaking all over with joy, like some speedster in gritty Times Square basement club and I'm feeling like I'm really getting better after long sick and I'm seeing myself happy and I know, for once I know I'm alright. Damn I know it'll fade tomorrow but there with "wail boom crash BOP!" I was good to go, I was great, I was in love complete and wanted my girl and knew I was lucky, I knew I'd be happy, and I'd be okay. It'll fade tomorrow, but that was great, God is great, I am great. 

Author's Note

Let me know what you think could help with this piece. This is only a first draft, straight as it came out of my head and into my notebook.

Reviews

[Mark]

I like it, I relate to it, it's got sort of a "beat" feel to it, as I think I can see a dark a and smoky tiny basement/ supper club.