Dixie Land

Her finger was
Listening for the
Pulse of dixie land (jazz)
With those open toed
Shoes dangling from
Musicians and  
Art-smothering-enticement
Sweeping the cigarettes’
Monochromatic time bomb
Lurking just around the corner;
Making for good after hours
Narratologies
Hairsplitting among their
Pedagogic foundlings: waifs; and the
Differences are but  
Fragrances with the
Industrial lighting who
Showcases all the  
Solitaire martinis in the room
With the engraved sounds
Spread out:
Inoperable silences
Belonging…
Hues  
Transported-  
Another time zone
Reminding me
What it’s like to
Lose yourself to some process of
Fine tuning.