01 August 2007

The morning moon always appears transparent in the sky.
Like an artist testing his new tube of titanium white;
A dab under his thumb pressed up on a denim canvas.
A giant fingerprint.
Grass is drenched
wet with dew.
She found a tennis ball and brought it to me;
I guess I was taking too long finding a stick.

This morning I heard jazz in a cab.
I can't recall the last time that happened,
save for a Woody Allen film.
Somehow the sounds of a muted trumpet
will always be artfully New York.
Past the Waldorf Astoria and Carnegie Hall;
I got out on Lexington and got a coffee and some fruit.

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