A TRACE OF IMPROVISATION AS UNCERTAINTY’S PRINCIPLE—Take X
towards a freer jazz with ashes buried under some trees by a ¿dead? cat in a different key
These are amazing:
each almost a light note
the hidden horn section
of your fingers
seems to ply or play
in the baby hair
on my forearm
a phrase claims
but can’t quite prove—
I once shaved—
as though to shrug off
most surface meaning
and enter what
are not shrubs
but maybe a bramble
of leafy edges
or blooming fruit
that could perhaps
—beloved—
expose a new position
of my body in motion
as purplish notes
tho not a pentatonics
of The Blackberries
singing a capella
—also a kind of naked
—even as it edges
up to a lapse
I might ache
into pieces of a map
of merino kisses
or make my key aim
to seed allusions
also dug by Kearney
as a Pointillist
pomegranate shaped
from an orchid
before you tailor the hymns
to Orpheus of Cecil
or Cécile playing
“Le Front Cache”
down bare vertebrae
or the wrinkled knees
of a more natural man
island-eyeing a woman,
hacking the syntax
Erica might hunt
in the wing velocity
of velvet hummingbirds
Apophenia diagrams
beyond a trio of Autumn Leaves
or teases to retouch
as parakeet feelings
soon feather
these daydreams
of your tongue tracing
someone’s Ark of Bones—
of their black & buried
desire to be unmade—
to fade into a silence
found nearly at the point
of a sound science?
