written for the Writer's Cramp--a hendecasyllabic poem--about a local jazz singer |
SCAT She scats, speaking in tongues to jazz, calling down antidiluvian pre-Christian forces, gods who could never love you as you love them. Earthy and moist, her subterranean voice percusses your core, skinning all mystery to just here and now. No charms, incantations can say what awaits up ahead in the curve. Groove as the music melts your muscles and bones. The universe hums to a tune in B-flat, harmonizing nonsense syllables, she scats. Written for: "The Writer's Cramp" For further explanation of form:"Poetry Forms" |