haunted by miles davis
and miles
just keeps
on
playing…
in my mind
like background
bringing me back
to basic me;
in spite
of elaborate
plays and ruse,
in spite of
professional jargon
infusing the seams
of tchaikovsky on the radio,
and miles
just keeps
on
playing…
and miles
just keeps
on
playing…
on my mind;
laid back beat
couching the fierce
passion of the man
and miles
just keeps
on
playing…
because that’s
what he does.
just ask carlos santana –
he says he plays with him
all the time
well right now,
miles is playing with me,
turning me inside out
music streaming
from my eyes
beating
passionately
through my stiff
professional clothes,
he keeps it real
and i must
do the same…
and miles
just keeps
on
playing…
and miles
just keeps
on
playing…
and miles
just
keeps
on
playing…