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The melody haunts
on the offbeat,
my heart's pulse.  

Sad, but hopeful,
maybe.

The fuzzy reeds,
breath through tenors, 
piano and bass 
both upright shake
sand castles loose 
at the turrets.

Doubtful brushes swirl on snares,
precise in ambiguous beat,
more color,
than anything electric.

A young girl,
neon green bikini, 
samba prone on her lounger 
under ear 
buds, to her own muse, 
or maybe disposable pop.

Surf rolls.
Hear that oh
so soft brush on cymbal?

Grab it, now hold it, 
now fade.

Chicheme, March 2013