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Thursday, April 7, 2011

A poem I wrote sometime shortly before January, 2009

Charlie Parker

The Bird's notes
from the underground bar
write themselves in big curly-q letters
circling clouds of smoke
in what's left of the air.

Strumpet swirls and slinks about,
thinking bout
where (and who) to go after—

The nest is swarming.
Chicks dance swimmingly.
Men and women read aloud
their chosen interpretation—

What is it?
Fine. Furious. Flinching.
Free as can be—
dainty messages of love
on scented paper cocktails

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