How It Works
"let's stop pretending we understand jazz"
Nicole Blackman

Let's try charting, (We understand Pi)
let's touch, fingering we understand digits
let's sign, waving we understand tangents,
Let's strip, opening we understand clothes.

Let's steam, reddening we understand Blues,
let's hope humming, we understand Bird,
let's scale, mapping we understand Miles,
let's train, loving we understand supremes.

Let's tongue, kissing, we understand heat.
Let's sweat, dripping we understand drums,
Let's bop, as though we understand Being,
Let's loop, proving we understand knot . . .

Hole (note)
"each hoisting forever upward his burden"

Each shriek, held
hoisting a heavy tome
somehow calligraphic,
upwards as dust rises
a new music, old
burden, breathed.

Each bar stumbled from
hoisting hymnals
forever shouting
upward, arpeggiatic
a soul, saxophonic
burden, burnished.

Each solo, nail sharp,
hoisting a hammer
forever falling,
towards
the ash-black
burden, airborne.

Each melody almost
hoisting down heaven.
forever. flaming
upwards. hell-bent.
your passion's single
burden. burning.

Old poem, New version.

THE FIRST GOSPEL
B-Bop Solo #1

Some days,
the rain burns.
At the center
of the burn,
there is a cry
without end,
the why of whatever
is suffered.
Isn’t the ‘I’
a pupil
of affliction,
dilating
in darkness?
Is the 'I' lashed?
Is something like skin broken,
the opening jagged,
groaning like a mouth?

At the center
of all cries,
an eye.
In the core
of the eye,
an Iris.
At the end
of its stem,
a serrated slash.
In the mouth
of the slash,
beads of blood.
In these tears
of blood,
a saltiness.
The salt

crystallizes
into a song.
This hymn

is a hinge,
and in its arc
something like
a door
opens.

21 days til Spring

March,

with your brass band of winds,
swirling overture of air,
clamor of grey clouds.
Must you
cacophonate my heart?
I would settle for being
a single petal
on the gardenia
in your hair.