as cool as the sound of jazz


itís late, gig over, I should be on my way home

I suppose I can convince myself that I am

but the roads are mysterious and the night air

is as cool as the sound of jazz

drifting from a basement club in Basin Street

the car takes me down roads to see where they go

some place I know but different

shadows like a sheet

change familiar shapes into strangers

ghosts of friends

here the sound is the rhythm of tyres

clipping on the edge of concrete road slabs

another time it will be the slap slap slap of windshield wiper

and another the distant sound Dave Brubeck

on the CD player

volume     turned       down       low

and maybe some words will come and I can speak them like a song

to the slap slap slap  slap slap slap slap of the tyres

or maybe not

but it must be time to find some familiar place

time to find my way home

out of the seductive never ending streets

away from the music

away from the cool air

away from the comfort of night

back to the room where the sound is imprisoned by walls

swallowed by carpets and curtains

back to the place where tomorrow

demands to be organised

back to the place where darkness is trapped

and night holds its secrets behind a closed door

where dreams wait

but just for now the road is empty

yellow street lamp lit

traffic lights all on green

the car window open brings in the scent of early autumn

and for now just for now

life is as cool as the sound of jazz

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