Wednesday, February 4, 2015


It may chance you find yourself
To be something less than real
But interesting all the same
Say you are the troll king's daughter
His pale and  dangerous daughter
Come in the cold winter of 1943
To a smoky room to hear music
A tenor sax; a pianoman impossibly handsome;
A bass fiddle keeping the night alive
Beating like a great ragged heart.
What matter if you're an illusion
Or if the perfect smile of the pianoman
Is marred by a tooth gone dead and colorless?
The night will last so long as you choose it to;
There! His fingers hesitate over the keyboard
How is it he so surely knows who you are?

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