Jam On, In No Particular Flavour

by Chadwick TC Green

A brush smears
a kaleidoscope arc across the staff
forcing the rhythm section to groove
blindly with the vibe.

The right hand slaps the funk
The left walks the soul
The sticks swing swift with all that jazz.

It’s something in the air
that demands a nod
from everyone in the know
forcing the hair to stand
on the back of my neck
like a fist
raised
to the mosh.

The moment suspends in time
reflecting the early hours of dawn
before everyone awakes,
All life still,
All life sublime,
as the world takes in a deep breath.
Before it sighs
and sometimes screams.

Jam on.