Jazz in May #3

by Ralkkai

Nothing new
across the radio waves
stuck in a loop, trying to
find
that one good sound
but nothing plays well
with my brain.

Jazz for the insane
is better then Metal and Rock
but maybe not Classical.
Maybe I’m getting old.
Maybe I’m trying to get it all out right
this time.

Better than last time-
booze to get that rhyme
and hands tuned the song just right
to make everything wrong
and allow my ears to bleed.

Screams sounded better,
trumpets too damn bright,
splashing words on canvas
trying to position it just right.
High on the page
like musical war we wage
forging chaos into melody
like every verse is your own obituary
and you think to yourself
“On the contrary.

This isn’t music.
There are no words.
How can I enjoy this when it doesn’t narrate?”
And I assume you are the one
at a loss-
You are the asshole.

Jazz for the insane
is an animal that crawls into corners
of your world
that you try to hold control of
and
it dies and stinks and rots
and you can’t do anything about it.

You are forced to
take in the stench
like a warm embrace
of plastic flowers
and paper cuts between your fingers.

Jazz in May is thoughts on paper.

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