shadows gather to celebrate jazz hour
smokes rise to celebrate jazz hour
sparks jump off cigarette ends
bubbles flock to the surface
despite the tension, climb up
fogs begin to dance

cats give out advice on how to get the best seats
some, of course, lie, the trick
is to know which
you can tell novice liars by whiskers
whiskers say, ‘I lie,” presto the paradox.

wise dogs sleep already; the magic steps over them
in the form of the rustle in the oak trees,
you know what I’m talking about, the sound-movement
the chiasm

like the very first keystrokes and the inevitable rain
as if this were some newyorker establishment only
it’s feb and it’s 65 degrees
at night.

yes, have a cigar
they’re cheap here,
have these notes too
there is nothing better life can offer
between 2 and 3 in the morning

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