imperfections…

listening to jazz at all hours of night…into the wee morn…station outta’ Newark playing america’s song…the one Miles raised us on…taking me away from my woes of the day…my lowly economic status…a love -life laying in the arms of beautiful buddha…waiting for nothing…waiting for nothing…waiting for nothing…

horns blow through a tinny speaker…a little static goes a long way…something beautiful ’bout imperfections…a warped board…a missed note…a broad’s bent nose at 3 in the morning as she sucks in smoke and blows it back out at you in the diner…coffee poured…pie played with…and you two just keep makin’ eyes to one ‘nother…winks an’ smiles…winks an’ smiles…

and there were visions throughout the night…hung-over thoughts of what if…could’ve would’ve should’ve…the one that got away ’cause you didn’t hang-in at the plate…hitting foul tips the whole time onna’ full count ’till she called… STRIKE 3eeeeeeeeeeeeee….next batter…

so i walk up an’ down Lexington Avenue peeking in on the Greeks…the Punjabs….card readers….Madame X reads minds for one low cost payment…cash only…credit cards not accepted….

an’ the Bowery’s buzzin’…girls in tight sweaters playing kissy-face with boys who should be home in bed…grounded for mouthin’-off at mom and dad…missed marks on their report cards….but…they steal the girl every time…love is a young man’s game….a young man’s game…

i just lay here…dreamin’ of all this as jazz flows outta’ Jersey through a tinny speaker…

somethin’ beautiful ’bout imperfections

Published by: dmseay

The writing is based on my surroundings and what I've been surrounded by. This language is coarse and politically incorrect; which I make no apologies for. These characters are not nice and to use any other dialogue would be disingenuine. That being said, I choose to roll the dice. dm seay

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