Miles Cooling

Miles just cooling, Horn blowing like 

corner boy riding the city streets on 

silver bike, jumping curbs, lighting through 

the park cross the tall green grass moving 

so fast the ground seems like thick liquid. 

The drums beating ruckus in 

the chest, bass breathing all up 

and down the neck, it’s getting late

—boy be chasing the sun again.

Miles cooling along the train tracks 

couldn’t care a hoot if any

freights was coming, shit 

they just join in the mix, 

swinging bleat punches 

against the wind, whirling up the 

session men, with ungainly brass 

belches, turning the heads of bland 

pic-nic-ers— boy be chasing the sun.

Miles cooling.

He laughs arc-saintly-cognac breath,

the bass, drum, piano infuriating a 

revolutionary pace. Miles cooling,

scoring new horizons sharp red,  

long and squealing 

loosing firm footing

finding old melodies 

childhood glee 

ancient free—

boy be chasing the sun.