Jazz Chick (Bob Kaufman Poem)
Music from her breast, vibrating Soundseared into burnished velvet. Silent hips deceiving fools. Rivulets of trickling ecstacy From the alabaster ...
Music from her breast, vibrating Soundseared into burnished velvet. Silent hips deceiving fools. Rivulets of trickling ecstacy From the alabaster ...
On yardbird corners of embryonic hopes, drowned in a heroin tear. On yardbird corners of parkerflights to sound filled pockets ...
Where the string At some point, Was umbilical jazz, Or perhaps, In memory, A long lost bloody cross, Buried in ...
Jazz radio on a midnight kick, Round about Midnight. Sitting on the bed, With a jazz type chick Round about ...
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