Jazz Cut Out


She smelled of Spring and red heather

Her jeans unzipped.

The first three buttons of her blouse unbuttoned

She wore powder pink sneakers

And her laugh sounded like a pedal harp in soft rain

Sunday morning 7 am:

He was hung over quoting his own demented poetry and Rimbaud’s and Chuck D’s.

He scrawled: Fuck capitalist sex ! 

Above the urinal and opened the roof window :

The stars flashed into view like silver tongued bats licking the skies

With threads of pure lovesick light.



Saira Viola
Art by Unitas Quick

This entry was posted on in homepage and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.