Artisan by Dan Joyce
She walked uninhibited searching sexy strolling singing sounding like a flugelhorn slowly belting a sad song. All the night’s lonely Absolut vodka and orange juice medical marijuana and men looting her loft as age approaches wisdom never losing beauty and they called her Jazzy Luv. Dazed and ambient saxophone playing to the tune of lost years drown tears and a radio that has long lost its’ place in the new millennium. She once loved. I’m sure she did and now she tries and tries again. Taken advantage of by all the wrong men. Talked to the preacher on the television milking money promising, promising, promising… How does the night fool you? How does the darkness confuse? Where in his giving tree is in it for me?
Take me lonely one to the mythology of Plato, to the soul of the mate, to the stereo-driven seduction to the clubs of New York to the beaches of Venice, to the dive pit bar located south of the barrio and we’ll call it Jazzy Luv and we’ll call it ageless beauty and will call it a Greek tragedy and we’ll call it the meaning of life. Bury me in the depths of my own seduction that we are not a fantasy that we are not a melody that we are a syncopation bebop rhythm and blues of the bluesiest blues together know my name and call her Jazzy Luv.