Smoke

In Response to: Harlem Renaissance Music and Culture


Cloudy embankments of fog climb among the feet of souls.
Smoke entwining itself around limbs and glasses of faces and tables. The bang
of the pale faced drum hums to innocents
Who strut along fifth avenue
like they have a date with satan.
It lures passerby on the somber expanses of streets like flickers of ash off the butt
of a cigarette
That releases its smoke to tempt again.
The embers are fire in the veins of dancers.
Lights dim and flicker
Across faces among the tangle of dark limbs bouncing with the light and smoke
to a dance only they can hear.
Thick notes infect the listeners with a syncopated tune.
Muffled by dresses on bodies
slung low on branches
Scattering the smoke and sound.
Pale dull bruises on the broken wings of mortals as they maneuver through obstacles.
Shooting out from metal limbs like a siren clutching its fingers to the last breath of mourning
Emitted from its victims in the night lit room pulsing to the tune.