ATTENUATED TO NUANCE
Why am I partial to circular things while
linear logic drives me mad? Salvation
of the circumstance can only be found
in the roundabout fashions of random
thought and unsought conclusions.
As the mad be-bopper would once have
spoken : 'I'm hep to that; hope you're not jokin''.
And then - in a spree of mystifying and unsaddled
words - that man in the jazz loft would begin
playing his overloaded (circular) riffs while the
others joined in : Mr. Drummer high-hats to death
while the piano man accentuates each chord by an echo.
It's like that everywhere I go. The ribbon of
science unwrapped and pulled, torn in slices
from all stern and rational things. I want to bow
down at that building where they all once lived.
In my memory - the Mingus the Monk the Coltrane
and even, in his own enormous way, Kid Ory,
somewhere still playing today. Birdman took flight.
He's gone away.
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