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they was all rememberin'
the real fillmore
the beat
thelonius lines and runs
and the ghost of booker t.
lookin' for something better
the bouncing night
be bop angels in tweed duds
slick felt fedoras
smooth jazz tickles
like a peacock feather
a brick a-bricka bang
brick streets
red spectre of the days
kinda wrangles
smoothly shakes on by
syncopate my soul to the sounds years gone
i can still hear throbbing
in every dirty grain of sand
this city's concrete blanket
who wants to sleep
when the moon
spins like luminescent vinyl
cornucopia
phonograph horn
whispy
raspy
beautifully torn sound
little ants born into the middle of it
pilgrims of stutter picked geetar strings
spinning on the edge of sound