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I saw Mark Turner play at Jazz Standard a few months back and wrote a poem while watching him. The poem was longer than this version and I kept trying to figure out what else to add. Finally, after being away from it for a while, I not only decided not to add anything, I decided to take things away. Here’s the result.
/ / /
the king’s clothes
corduroy-suited tenorman
plays non-clichéd blues
in clichéd suede shoes
on his furrowed brow
the image of a lotus
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