T.M.

 

"He started it all."  - Art Blakey

 

Highly personal, now

brittle and spastic

now firm & out

 

side. Angular and

nagging at the

un-solid core, the

bone and crepuscule.

 

Beyond Race.

 

Gifford takes it

in  the  morning

straight

 

             no

chaser necessary

'ld only water

down the flavor

and we need it

thick.

 

THICK as your fingers

plunking down two

keys at once THICK.

 

                     We take

our daily juice

w/ the Carolina

grease with the

Harlem ghetto church

grease Wynton seems

to have missed

in his Crescent City

shelter.

 

Nothing standard

about this Sphere.

 

Even the sun's

rays

take

eight

minutes to warm

our fragile rock.

 

 

Spinning in a circle

the joy of being

or

the antidote to madness,

the price to pay?

 

Circle

me again Thelonious,

I see the look of Miles'

when your angles

cut off        disturbed

his egg-shell

process.

 

                    He

bought the hype, you

just    wanted    to

 

            play.

 

 

Huge indeed, we

are still catching

up to your Ugly Beauty, we are

past the eleventh

hour & now Round

Midnight and who

 

is the mad   man

piano-playing spell-

caster? Who

is Blue now Mr.

Sphere? You jam

you spin   you invent

new riddles to ponder.

 

Who turns in circles

 

I

ASK

YOU

NOW

 

and listen

listen

                                                                listen

                                                            .

peN #659 9:07AM  5.12.99