smoky underground sounds
of free spirits of the street
fill the Harlem air.
it’s improv, it’s in the pocket
hands, fingers and mouths
breathing life, it’s the
birth of the cool,
cool notes of jazz.

drum lays down the beat
that pumps the bass
that drives the rhythm
Miles and ‘Trane free-blowing
blowing out blue note
messages to the street.
Monk in full flow, flowing
blood through red-hot veins
the sound of jazz
on sweltering summer nights
feeds the soul of the city.