New Orleans Drinking Whiskey Neat
that which halts itself
dreams.
~ Lorca, “Running” (“Corriente”)
A sonnet lends a pause. It brings a halt
To Tuesday stuff. It enters into spheres
As real as dreams. If life is filled with fault,
The lines kill off with fixing salt the sneers.
I like to think the inspiration is
Akin to what a jazz musician feels
As clarinet, brushed snare drum, rhythms, whizz
To new horizons and the music peels
Away to smokiness. A Bourbon Street
Escape defeats a Tuesday rush to work
Forgotten in the combo of the beat
And throatiness of saxophone, its shirk.
The point of sonnet and of jazz, the same,
Is fug opposed to all that isn’t shame.
~ Phillip Whidden
by phillipw | Jul 21, 2024 | CL, JA, LO, NE, SA |