Jazz Fest
Sunshine.
Staccato shots on shoulder
Between the verdant leaves.
Maggie Brown twerping, cooing like a bird,
On stage in floating violet plumes.
I sit among my peers:
Old black men with canes
Smiling at the stage
In memory only, can't hear a thing.
Young dudes in dreads still
Learning, yearning for the pure
Improvisation of jazz.
Jazz ,breaking in staccato starts
Like lake waves, sun on shoulder.
There are no mistakes.
Just constant renewal
Of sun, wave, and sound.
Improvisation is allowed.
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