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How the Dog Cooked Jazz
Got no plans for the afternoon so the bass in the living room croons and the dog sits at my feet looking for food how I can do any thing I want to do cause ain’t there no rules when cooking jazz Move around these white tiles he watches my every move and the aroma of tomato moves the bay leaves that tip the beat beats of trumpet riffs in C
Got no plans this afternoon and that bass down the living room booms and the dog sleeps at my feet dreaming of food how I do what I want to do cause I’ve got food and I’m cooking jazz Outside the kitchen window the modal cadences of falling rain ping that xylophone-thing how I grab the dog swoon near the oven how I gaze into his amber-tuned eyes how each of his tongues strewn into crescent moons taps an ivory key that all afternoon coo simply blue
Published in Off Line
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“Sleepwalker” silk-screen by Carol Buchman |
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eMail: David / ©2008 David Crews. All rights reserved. |