Pulp Jazz

Dark beauty romantic disaster whistles 

and whines, thrums and hums deep and

high, the ends of the earth, saxophone 

organ, simmering slowly through the air.

You can be there if you click your heels

and say: “ What is the meaning of life?”

three times. You can be there on certain 

kinds of drugs, or if you’re in a certain 

mood, or if the weather is acting weird,

or in the aftermath of a battle. You can

be there when you read the note your

lover left, when it’s the end of baseball/

basketball/football season, when you’ve

run out of ping-pong balls. You can be 

there till the cows come home, or if they

never come. You can be there as you hear

them hammering nails outside. You can

be there just before you close your eyes.