manifesto jazz

the lines i walk are mine.  i draw them myself

and i break the rules; i use

all that stuff they tell you not to

and i turn the music off because my rhythm is

the rhythm of silent stars hidden behind a daytime sun.

a bird is my muse and her name is silence

and she makes her nest in inconvenient places and i

must track her down, but that's okay, it's my job, not

hers.

i drew those lines and i stand on them in high

heels, bare feet, flip flops, cowboy

boots, and i stand tall

and i teeter and sometimes my feet

hurt

and i want to sit down, but i 

stand.

i pay attention.

i look truth in the eye and i expect it to look me back and

we'll see who blinks first. 

i am a teller of truths hurtful sad funny fast;

it is jazz and i am on the stage and i am scatting

baby sweetie honeypie

and you, yes you, right there, i see you look

away

when i hit that just right note,

the one you feel right up against that sore spot on your soul,

and i smile i know and hope you stay cause it gets

better.

i ask too many questions and i keep too many answers
hidden,
i am windblown imperfect and moving forward, navigating
by st. exupery's stars;
true north is the tip of my toes.
i follow the flights of owls and write their secrets on the
palm of my hand, sweating those truths away before
dawn.

i draw my own lines and i use invisible ink and glow
in the dark paint and pencil tips so fine only true hearts can
follow.
i mark the curb of the universe and reach out my
hands for gifts always given.
i hold my palms open.

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