Jazz Put to Thought

 I like it when my thoughts calm down

After the highs and lows of the trumpet solos

After the thumping of the strings from the bass

After the beating of the alcoholic's belly from the slouching drums

The improv is the language 

without a vocalist

It all comes together then releases a breath

like the clouds rolling away from a thunderous storm

created by instigating summer humidity

for the rest of us staying cool until bedtime

as the thoughts turn off again

creating words to sketch for the day 

has no regret   

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