Miles got me thumb tacked to this chair
The words porin’ out of his horn onto
Paper & I don’t pretend to understand
Only to enjoy sittin’ back in voluntary
Captivity tryin’ to keep up keep out
Of his way any preconceived notions
Lettin’ his abstract potions heal me
Carryin’ me on his back like a wounded
Soldier of misfortune for the span of the
Spin to insurrect me from complacency
& lift me to that higher ground holdin’
On for the next note that unchained
Melody that halleluiah chorus unspoken
Like a joke no one gets ‘til it’s no
Longer funny but you smile anyway
* * * * *
By Kevin Eberhardt, included in the Crisis Chronicles Library by permission.
For more Kevin Eberhardt work, please check out his blog:
as well as
and several issues of
The City Poetry (www.thecitypoetry.com).
His work can also be found accompanying images
by London photographer Richard Byerley at
Contact northern Ohio poet Kevin Eberhardt at firstname.lastname@example.org.