Chastisement Jazz

Morning ride radio.

Bird 
decorating air,
Mingus
opening depths,
Trane
rarefying light, 
Monk 
coming at existence from
guru angles, and 
Blakey
socking in a
pulse. 

News reports: 
bodies on 
street corners,
in mosques,
churches, and temples…

then back to
music standing
up to death — 
all the players having known 
such casual killings
in their time, too.

How dare I claim
to be so broken
that there is nothing left
for me to say?