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Poetry #271
(published March 23, 2006)
by Charles Clifford Brooks III
We're not too white,
nor wealthy,
to feel that
in the room
he played.

He wooed addiction
and the Furies,
which rise
to leave you
breathless and blue.
(The blue Miles knows too.)

Love the vibe supreme.
Blow out,
and up,
as long as your music'
stays true.

Rip our world,
baby boy!
Race the rising sun
and keep the notes wild.
There is no fear
on Jazz's cloud.

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The Next Poetry piece (from Issue #272):

by Joseph Lisowski

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by Charles Clifford Brooks III

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