Found a bottom
to these blues
wrapped in autumn
under ragtime shoes
Trumpet taps
Horn mute moans
Hands go clap
Move them bones
Rise up people
Before the crash
Music steeple
Church like jazz
Swing the big band
trot the fox
don't just stand
in your socks
Rhythm beat
syncopated
Here's the heat
for which we waited
(September 24th, 2017)
YOU ARE READING
Post Modern Mystic
PoetryPoetry fills a need of the human heart to express through the construction of artistic verse, the things that hide in its depths. This book of poetry is my attempt to reach those places and beyond. See if I do. Let me know if I reach you. This will...
