Jazz Is an Imperfect Metaphor

1 August 2017

Jazz is an imperfect metaphor.
its your African father looking
backwards into himself
kissing everyone he meets,
meta-level luster in
copper, hollered above the
chattering Charlie Brown baseline,
singing a sermon sideways
into the small crevasse
of a closed mind–
it sinks in slanted like Jesus
as he bowed the wood
to which he was nailed–
it is mercy, sweet mercy
from a Georgia farm
where the peaches
have bloomed
and the proof of God
lies on a misunderstood
premise: that the rhythm
of booming hips
is derived
from a rational
number.

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