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Saxophone Heaven

Sidemen crouch in stairwells.

Waiting to make their move.

Microphones hiss.

Like snakes on the take.

Parker crushes his smoke and

Raises the Horn.

This is a Gig Baby and the liquor is Top Shelf.

Remember that time when he played the Grafton?

It was plastic but his reeds were Ricos shaved pussy thin and he blew us all away.

Those were the years of the Arm and the Needle.

When the lights were low and it was all Chalameau and any

God would drop their drawers for a taste of that

Junk Dope Smack Shit.

They are Gentle and Kind and sleep between sets like infants.

First published by The Rye Whiskey Review

The Boom Boom Room

There’s A Room In The Back. It’s The One That Prints Jack. The One That’s Front Loaded. The One Sugar Coated. Take The Fork In The Road. Take Your Pain A La Mode. Take Your Cue From Your Gods. Get Wha

On The Edge Of A Field

A line of yellow maples crack Spilling branches on Late autumn wheat. This is the sound of Something Ending. This is the sound of Being Alone. Evening. In Majesty approaches. Listen. Be still. There a

The Time I Was Taken To Psycho

Drive In. Black And Dark. Gear Shift. Stuck In Park. Trees. Choke. Limbs. Poke. We’re All Here But No One’s Woke. Slasher. Use The Carving Knife. Slasher. Plan Your After Life. Mother. You’re The Stab

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