A Poem for August

For Thelonius 

 

I slink

‘round midnight

so he so me

the he-suit sits

so pure his plunk

his plink his tone

not sunk his sun

not set ‘til crepuscule

with Nellie knits

then rises, rips

up-trips Ruby,

my dear, surprise

so sheer her lips

her hips so he so she

he sits his loins opine

so mine so rope

so steel his spine spoke

then stroke, stroke

this hip-hop tome

this hotel motel

E.T. phone home

to Blue Monk

here in post-helium

hemisphere lost

so moist in moisture

I sit straight, no chaser

not pus, not tin, not smoke

not thirsty sister

not unmet need

no line no pun

no hour-lust rumor

no minute rum

sun rises, sets

is risen, no prison

these melons

ripe to ripen

out in the street

not unshine, like sunshine

split prism like the moon

this tune, this rune

so he so she

so us so punk

so misterioso

Monk

Lisa Vihos