Quartal voicings, the alcohols.
Swallows in a martini sky, jigsawed
glassware, velvet-filleted pine trees,
brilliance & nada in cascade antipodes,
lightly sidestepping with motivic arches
the oiled train trestles, corner bars
& township caul of natal New Jersey,
the Ampex taping genius, its weird privacies
reel-to-reel, capturing the bass taking
the low down, suppressed twinge
of truth, reefer, junk, as winter southpawed
in, despite all. Nights playing a show
one-handed, virtuosic, after a needle hit
a nerve. In tones variceal. Lyric. Cirrhotic.