Monday, September 10, 2018

11,147. AT MINTON'S

AT MINTON'S
I went there once : jagged edge
of black glass loitering like a
fire from the very rim of Hell.
Saxophone and vocalese was
all they knew. Black tokens of
fine affairs and reveries; I was
smitten. Smitten was the word.
-
No one came in with a report
on the weather. Trivial pursuit 
indeed, and this was all far too
important for that. I'm sure I did
leave  quite drunk, though I
hardly remember the night.

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