by Dorothea Tanning
In French death is feminine
A sort of mother or sister
Someone you had lost track of,
Almost forgotten about.
by Pattiann Rogers
It’s a beautiful heaven, shining aqua
arrangements on black, scattered
chips of pure turquoise, gold, sterling
white, ruby sand; dimmer clouds
of glowing stellar dust; beads
like snow, like irregular pearls.
by Paul Zimmer
Count Basie was out in front on the piano, smiling his complete smile, moving the band, driving it in and out of numbers through the big, powerful solos and roaring section work. Midway through the show he brought out a line of chorus girls, and they pranced and bumped into each other gorgeously on the stage. I could smell their perfume up in the balcony. The band closed out with an easy “Rock-A-Bye Basie,” then roared back into a chorus of “One O’Clock Jump.”
by David Baker
The scene you loathe, the sheer fervor, the speed
of the dangerous cabs—the city street
in oil, in spray when they pass, and the white
exhaustion of the passersby like clouds.
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