30 Days of Forced Writing

An Experiment in writing

A singular trumpet plays
with a piano echo
and a stand up bass
moving forward.

I’m in your apartment
in a hazy cloud
left over from the night
staring out the window.

It’s winter in the city,
the snow is falling
on the Detroit River
and the trumpet plays on.

I can still remember
the taste of gin
on your lips.

It was winter then
we danced in socks
because my feet hurt.

I don’t know why
you ever bothered
with multiple drunken kisses.

But Miles Davis
always reminds me
of Detroit
in the winter time,

of a moment
that seemed electric
but was another
tick in a long history.

You still dance
in the periphery
of my mind.

I don’t know
how to evict you
from the space
you occupy.

I was empty then
and I wanted
you to fix it
but that wasn’t fair.

I wasn’t your
problem to repair
and you weren’t
the reason
for my brokenness.

I used to think
we’d meet again
and end this nonsense.

But I was naive then
and I don’t know
if I believe,
in that sort of thing anymore.

 

These are my thoughts for today. Until tomorrow friends!

 

One thought on “7 – Miles Davis

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: