You Feel Me?

AN IDEA OF IMPROVISATION WITH THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPLE—Take X

towards a freer jazz with ashes buried under some trees by a ¿dead? cat in a different key

I shrug and enter

what are not shrubs

but maybe a bramble

of sharp edged petals

that seem to shield fruit

which perhaps function 

—beloved—as chromatic points 

but not a pentatonics

of The Blackberries

singing of a loss

I might lapse

into and risk crimson

not knowing

if a light note later

the hidden position 

of a thorn section

could tincture the i 

or for a time conjugate 

any tidal desire dug 

by Kearney from a pond 

in a Pointillist tone poem 

which begs tailoring

on the fringes by Cécile

or Nate or Cecil pleating 

theories of jazz 

we failed to scan

from “Le Front Cache”

or even the knees 

of a more natural man

or Haitian woman, yet 

keep modeling or yodeling—

our speech not a performance

—beyond the velocity

of wavy phrases

or sleepy Harriet mulling

over a syntax of velvet

deities that Apophenia—

our mellow diva—

drreams to bray or splay

how bananas it could be

if they’re yellow berries

or genetic diagrams

of spiral walls around

viral Gardens of Truth

but maybe just feel 

like a trio of Winter Leaves

shading or abrading

my parakeet feathers 

to color what appears 

as loss or seems lost 

to appearances if I fail

to peel my berried desire

with a silence bladed 

nearly to the point 

of a sound science?