POEM FOR THE JAZZ MAN AT THE ANXIOUS ASP
they say he’s burned out
but no one has bothered
to tell him
his Sax igniting a spark
across the room
his lips working pure magic
each note attacking the
heart strings of the soul
and for one brief moment
he loses sight of the
bubbling spoon the
heated needle
each note a burst
of machine gun fire
just like he used too
before the angel of death
took him on a straight
line to hell
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