In Coltrane’s
“Equinox,” his
Sax desperate
To slither out
Of Wittgenstein’s
Suicide bottle,
Yet Elvin Jones’
Drums protect
Earth from caving
In, McCoy Tyner’s
Piano satisfies
Like the meal my
Aunt treated me to
In grad school,
And on this bright
Cold morning
Same as night,
It isn’t fair I
Climb this hill
Alone, drag
My feet with
Knowledge you’re
Gone, still I
Zigzag to Coltrane
Up down around
The dead-end trail,
Perform for
Birds ‘n crickets,
Fly musicians
Crying chords
Of presence,
Survival.
Alex Z. Salinas lives in San Antonio, Texas. His full-length poetry collection, WARBLES, Is out now released by Hekate Publishing .
He is poetry editor of the San Antonio Review, and his short fiction has appeared in numerous publications online.
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