Friday, September 18, 2015
MEDITATIONS
In the sometime
sentient evening,
tentacles weave
themselves from urns;
while Trane blows
a Latin Mass
through golden horns,
and my love
of gods
is second
to the blue smoke
trailing
from his horn.
Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2015
Labels:
Friday,
god's memory,
jazz,
John Coltrane,
Latin Mass,
Meditations
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