Molasses

March 8, 2017
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molasses slow
each bone in my body
frigid, on hold

i am moving
so slowly
i do not notice the time
slink past me,
alley-cat, cool-cat

now i know what the blues
are about
each mournful sound of the trumpet
each syllable
each delusional cry into a silence we created

i am left with nothing
but two brass keys
and a concrete square of pavement

i have no rhythm
but tonight, i am the blues






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