THE GUEST BEATS

Drawn lines
of arbitrary proof
in the loveless gigs
of the furtive Fifties
changes for us
in a chorus of fiery voices
every midnight at midnight
opens its red light roofs
in a swinging dawn
of the Sixties
to sing in a new light
from shadows of cool jazz
as the hours of guest beats
with lively black eyes
play their soprano sax
mixes with the phosphorescent
new tuft of stars dancing
at sunrise at the High Hat
and transfixes the fulfilling
the sister and brother
of a flower child's knees and feet
as we relax and took photos
recreated from angel faces
pulsing from a stained book
of musical snowy veins
crying out for peace and justice
from red serpentine disgraces
and any icy bigoted remains.