08
Nov
12

Thelonious

Moments

Like these,

When the words

Are

Hidden

Away,

I wish

That I had

Continued

To play

The saxophone,

Or any

Instrument,

For that matter.

When

The words are

Invisible,

I dream

Of notes

Strung together

Randomly,

Floating

Like smoke rings,

Around

Monk’s head-

Staring

At the keys,

Eyes closed,

Behind

Dark lenses,

Hiding

From the light

And himself.

Rather than

Looking for words,

I yearn

To feel

The notes

Escaping me

And my fingers,

Feeling them

As much as hearing

Them.

I want

Them

To be

A piece of me,

A part of me,

As they leave me

And float in the air,

Hovering before falling to the ground and smashing the silence with their deafening beauty.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

November 8, 2012

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