These days I suck greedily out of my trumpet the sweet intoxication of tones; we are both worn down by time.

I feast off excesses discarded by Lee Morgan as I ain’t no prodigy.

I am a scrounger. A pusher of complex, sweet, sassy, bold notes.

No house gives me shelter, no clock rules my moments. I hold no sign.

My brass is all I need.

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3 thoughts on “VisDare 91: “She Keeps Me Warm”

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