In The Club

Pretense of
black turtlenecks
and sunglasses.
A cult of jazz dogs
barking assent
to massed noise,
dense mist
of scramble
and note salad.
Deep analysis and
bullshit among the 
gold… 

meanwhile
the musicians smoke
in the back alley
between sets,

and talk
of baseball.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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