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Jazzmaster MAG
Jazz of the most interesting type
When shining golden ghosts go astray shooting out from the atmosphere into separate worlds
When fuel tank whompers break the ground in unpredictable earthquake beats
When explosions of lightly percussive twinkling send the crowd tumbling down the stairs of the universe
When golden yellow laughter and neon blue sadness fill the head to the bursting point
When the press of keys and sheets of music are ripped apart and tickled until they fall apart from laughter
When these tatters are taped back together in a suddenly humorless collage
When the jazz master raises his arm up in the air and sucks the sound into his iron fist
When the audience wakes up in the middle of nowhere and wonders who they are, which planet they belong to and what universe they’re in
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I wrote this poem by describing all the separate layers of jazz to show how wondrous each one is, but I also emphasize that the silence at the end has meaning.