Jazz feels lonely.
Ongoing pulse of the upright bass
Tugs at heartstrings,
Plucking away,
Extracting all the remaining pieces
Of ambiguous emotion
That might have had a chance
To be coaxed
Into a moment
Of momentary happiness.
I am too far gone.
All that’s left now is
A bass line
Throbbing and moaning
Through the body,
Keeping me breathing.
Maybe tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow
I will have a pulse.
A bass line
Of my own.
No comments:
Post a Comment