Miles Away

(A memorial poem for Miles Davis, written shortly after his passing)

he said
don't call him a legend
so
i'll call him
an original unreconstructed negro,
know what i mean?
if i were a scavenger,
now would be the time
to crawl forth and
overanalyze his quantum leaps
and mood storms
and feed that long-dead
monkey
that used to live on his back.
if i ran with the wolf pack -
reporters reviewers and critics
with their constipated ears,
this would be a good place
to invoke the albums
the bands
the sessions
the nightclub epiphanies,
the Armani-suited 50's,
the silk-and-leather 70's.
they can all stop following now,
always following,
full of glib and witty disapproval.
out of breath.
i have no bloated ersatz tribute,
no words for the horn;
no sketches
no smiles
no seven steps
no valentine,
nothing blue.
nothing else.
only silence,
a record player,
and the hush between the notes
filling a pitch-black room.
filling the sky
from Miles away.

Reviews

[TTBoy28]

A truly lover of jazz! I wish I could hear this spoken to music. If you ever do it, please let me hear it. Jammin'!