bellows below the tonsils trilling bullhorn blowing bullfrog moaning
groaning another spring into fever raising steam in the pond the street
is boiling some jazzer with his ax on the corner playing low notes down
past midnight in the velvet octave of blue horizons and absinthe clouds
dissolving sugar cube misty memory of hazy blissful flow like rowboat
cozy cradle dawn comes calling birds blow another song night is gone.
dj
4-24-17
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