I am iambic jazz sax played
no hidden skill unsold
I wield a shining
word-axe blade
to cut my word tax paid.
The notes I play are multitude
performed with athlete’s guile
triplets wrote with attitude
all inches to my mile.
Yet still I need you to approve
this struggle with the word
and though you state my prowess proved
there remains a part of me unstirred.
I pine for you to play along
I think you know a better song.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, May 19th, 2004 at 8:15 pm and is filed under Words.