Saturday, August 29, 2015


Grant me a single sense of time, as
it is there are far too many  -  this
bar-room reeks of confusion. The
broke-tempo jazz farce I hear needs
connection; too much is disjointed
and the sounds fly away. Like the
bagpiper I saw in Bar 55  -  some old
Greenwich Village funeral for some
cat who passed away to his longed-for
beatnik grave, too many people just
making too much noise around around
a single man, trying his very best, to play.

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