The winter rain beats a drum
roll on the window pane
into the night, I'm inside living high
with a hot buttered rum, listening to Igor
Kipness play Bach's 'Partita
Number Five in G Major',
on the computer I score thirty-one
thousand with seven purple squares
in a row, Igor finishes
and I switch to hot port
and 'Pioneers of the Jazz Guitar',
I don't need Jennifer to live high.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Living High
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3 comments:
Found it difficult to relate.. but then you appeared to have written something interesting..
you have profound way with words.
well done.
I get along without you very well,
Of course I do
your poignant poem conjured these lyrics.
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