prana moving through time signatures

bop blown through a wormhole

aimed at the earlobe of God

pondered DNA in saxophones solos

rising over the hills of the lips

whirling wonder

articulating the language of bruises and bliss

in urban lit fires of spirits

places and spaces of being

if you been there

you know there…

*prana, the breath of life, the vital force

 

excerpt from The Language of Saxophones, poem by Kamau Daáood.

listen to the entire poem.