Winter Love

She lived and died jazz: the very bone; and batted wit, tore
The soul: a thirst to vent: a voice to scold. The sky was life,
The badge of dreams: the beat of drums: the rum of
Screams; and lakes of mud, the trek of brick: an image torn,

A face of flint; and subtle hate, a freedom cry: a need to
Slice—a chunk of pie. Her beauty grand, a tongue to tilt:
A graceful gait: a soul to lilt; and mental chess, the streets
Of jazz: a maze of love: a hearty laugh; but rooted deep,

A sullen cry: a lover’s death: a season dry; and rapid
Bombs, explode the fields: a fallin’ gig: a bias guild. I shook
And churned—to learn of love: a crimson rose: a burning
Love; and nights of lust, a gust of pain: the walks of jazz:
The dice of flame; but troubled love—a  cherished flame: 
The fate of grief: the gates of crane.