'I need you', i said, to the wind that did not whistle. I need you to whistle through the bark of the morning and set my thoughts a'dancing to the rhythm of the night.

'And you', said I, to the rhythm of the evening, 'will you play me something soft and slow to ease my waking moments and sleep me with the dewdrops?'

'Sure', she said, as her eyes glazed over with frost. 'I'll betray my father and my name, bard you 'till the sun walks away from the moon and lights over the grass'

'So? Run. There is no ending'

And I am lost upon the dewdrops, so she said begone and run away. And trying, I left to leap myself over the cataclysmic chasms of distended identity, lost with the riff of lost lifetimes, nightmares of nights not in clubs, not tipptapping to keep up with the trumpet and eyeing the strumpet in the corner

'so', said i, staring at her eyes, 'buy you a drink if you give me a fuck'

and she smiled

so I bought her a drink anyway

and we
ran along the bar, shrinking ourselves to skate on the burnished brass bar, handstanding on the handholds anchoring it to the bar, letting ourselves laugh the world to right, sparkling over the sparks made by the lights in the bar

thinking

'if this is forever, the band's jiving quite nicely anyway'

wanting

'if this be need, I've got no room for nothing anyway'

wondering

'why even pretend we're not charmed?'

shimmying shaking jive jiving to all the jakes that jump Jehoshaphat in the end times letting ourselves go to the knowledge


that if there's an end times we're a hell of an accompaniment
riffing
upon the antique rifles crossed over the mirror
left there
by the proprietor's son
who died
in World War I

I pulled a flower out of the barrel, bowed low

she twirled, red skirt riding up

and i kissed

on the nose

and she

kissed me

just a bit lower

shook
me
to
my

toes

thinking
that
there
is
no
other
one
she left

me spinning

jumped
sprinted
to the trigger
and
leapt

upon
the edge
of
the
mirror

i seeing myself reflected

zoot suit riot
slim trim blue fedora
feather
in
the
brim

say to myself
'what a handsome devil'
as
tink
spins
away with me

on
one
tiny
little finger

i execute a figure
quickstep
in
time
to
the
pulsing
of
her
heart

and
leapt

(air is a porous medium; the molecules conveying me to her)
she

caught
me
and we whirled

as the air
grew heavy
and the fat cats started smoking old
Cuban cigars
we
tripped up the capital
and spun
through their smoke rings
drumming
upon
their eyelids
as
smoke
c
u
r
l
e
d
we
w
a
l
k
e
d
them
like
s
t
a
i
r
reaching
out
for
that
first
glance

'i still owe you a drink i said'

'Straight, no chaser', she said, as the Man with the plan started to toot his horn like nobody's business
('cept ours, i thought in my fedora, being as i tipped him a two buck to hip this tink to my way of thinking)
not blinking
we curled up in a blown glass boot
Jack Daniel's cup
fitting into the toe
i winked at the waitress
(an old friend from college days)
and let the smoke take me away
going to dancing school
jiving with the atoms, splitting figures and mixing metaphors

imitating all my styles and

'her lips, like lipstick' took me out of my reverie
she shot me a look i couldn't help but revere
and
took
myself
away