The ghost of Bebop
from 52nd Street,
left footprints in the snow.
A Cab passed, in the yellowish night,
a drunk volatile
with a goose-step, almost
gave a kick in the stars.
Slid under the door
of the Three Deuces the blues.
The street was a cold mirror
when it rains, now remember
a mantle of ermine
the lap of Lady Day.
2008
JTParreira
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
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