Black Arts

I don’t know quite what’s happened
but the walls
seem to be curiously collapsing.
The world twists
into amorphous shapes
and I don’t want to be here
at the club anymore.

Where are the berets?
This is a jazz club;
I expected berets
and turtlenecks
and bongos
and less Asian people.
What the hell is happening:
why is everybody Asian?

I think the funny cigarette
you offered
is doing things to me.
Inexplicable things.
And the tune the combo
is playing swings in insidious ways.
Does this club partake
in the Black Arts?
Are these players
practitioners of evil jazz?

Oh,
I never should have left my home
in Poughkeepsie.
Mother, save me
from this reprehensible bad jazz.

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