The Joker’s Favorite Request

The Silver Twilight Refrain

The tone of each note rose and dropped perfectly imperfect as the dancer had become accustomed to at such concerts.

The cool hard floor against her bare feet. Then her raised fingertips effortlessly tickling the hot humid breeze floating above her. The drunken stumbler coughing on a cigarette. The smoke mingles with frankincense and sage—nag champa and amber. The fragrant blend sticking to her and to the whole audience.

The musicians turning pitch into wine and she drinks it in all along the arpeggio.

Something deep is pulling her downward—swift and alive in the flow.

Running and chasing a riff—oh it’s fast as a feeling—the cool undertow.

The day glowing darkly and sparking catches her watering eyes. The sounds casually moving through her—around the coliseum and into her. Higher he strums her desire. The same silver dust falling like luck adorn all the drummers beating the beat. Silky satin poets laugh and cry as hearts break and burn into the night—and fill like wells—seeping up the groove electric.

Her name is Delia and her name is Jane—whatever scene is conjured in anticipation lives up to and surpasses lore. Truth echoes and sweet lies land softly over diamond flecked melodies—leaning far enough—toward a dirty bar chord, then strutting across her blues.

The dancer is the song playing the bass notes and the band keeps time with a spell.

Improvised alleyways anew in the byways building structure familiar and old.

Harmonic pinks pop and ping into focus deep like starlight piercing through years.

We fluently exhale lost languages flawed and understood—answering questions unknown.

Sink in deep currents swiftly bringing the band together again.

We cheer and clap in time.

We’re all here together.

We’re all here alone.

Between being left hanging on air rising—and falling.

Between scales weighing our fates and our dreams continuous all along the arpeggio.

And she dances on—between then and now and with eyebrow raised she says you were there too—sweating—dripping.

The harvest moon wanes and waxes across eons religious.

Blood flowing warm against Snow’s frost.

Hi-Fi skin tones aglow for each season.

Fear is on the run—it hides and peeks like children playing river splash in late afternoon.

The wild is tame and timid in the sea salt dew.

She opens and closes.

She dips and lifts for unknowns lost and found in twilight jazz America.

The Joker’s Favorite Request

He waited with the patience of a prowling cat but he looked more like a bear—standing under the marquee. He had drunk enough to paint his cheeks rose and they shimmered in the warm light. Glancing at Venus under a lean yellow crescent shaped grin—then at her bouncing here and there, then nowhere.

Music.

He spoke her name to no one.

The stars had aligned—finally.

Flurries of snow were blowing in the wind like cherry blossoms gently finding their way to the wet pavement.

Neon and electric green reflections lay like poems in melted puddles.

Steamy puffs of breath spilling family secrets to smiling strangers.

A yellow taxi hisses softly through the slush beyond the curb with nearby laughter wafting too loudly at a joke already fading into tomorrow. Somewhere down the block a broken guitar is crying through an open window and the whole city is leaning toward its sound.

All the best parts of the concert were still humming in their ears as crowds broke apart—dissolving into memory.

She hadn’t noticed him before. Her eyes had always sought after a more worthy prize, so when she turned around—bumping her head into his chest, she was pleasantly surprised and smiled.

They stood frozen alone together for a long moment.

Snow drifting in time—silently falling in slow spirals. The whole city had arranged itself around them like an old black and white still life perfectly framing—the two of them breathing and sharing cold breaths—rising mingling then disappearing into the dark. He didn’t reach for her hand. He didn’t have to. Some things are known before they occur.

Unafraid of who would speak first.

Afraid of what they might say to each other in trust.

She squeezed him hard and ran away in silence—their chests pounding like Christmas drummers.

Oh sister what is your name?

Queen of the tide—priestess of the night.

Her pride returning from the hunt and he was snared.

Moonlight Getaway Boogie

He took off like the thief who stole the gold—into the commotion of the clambering light.

The rhythm of the city pulsing through the night, he wagged and he walked.

His dancing shoes tapping along the blue avenue.

A car horn blows in and out—slow and low like a saxophone moan.

He stepped over old news as he drifted along like a man who had somewhere to be and nowhere to go.

Tonight love had won and jazz was right it was never wrong.

He played it badly and beautiful.

Careless and free no need to gloat.

His eyes screaming wide to passers by.

Pros and verse low and high.

He did the jitter-doo rag—entree.’

Twice then trice jolly and gay.

Old dancers still swaying beneath burned out stage lights. Snow melting into gutters while somebody softly whistles the refrain homeward. Every stranger carrying a little loneliness beneath their jacket like a folded photograph. Every wandering soul a forgotten face pretending not to recognize the others while the city keeps humming softly through dawn.

An unsung song sang lonely and true.

I sing dearie o’ for me and for you.

For all who listen and pass it along—true lovers and fools who sing all night long.

So make love out of nothing for something to feel.

Because freedom’s not free that’s part of the deal.

Without love you have nothing it’s plain to see.

The joker, the thief, the dreamers and me.

If this play was for you then please lend a hand.

We are the unbroken people’s band.

If you should hear this tune in the breeze—remember to sing and to dance as you please on top of a mountain all covered in cheese.