jazz drummer plus other notes

the old jazz drummer was barely audible at the mic while introducing the next song — his voice playing ghost notes while his eyes ducked under his panama hat, whose rim stood in for his cymbals and mounted rack

*

in my recurring fantasy of you, i never get past the intensity of our initial contact — how it disarms you like a swift drug. it’s what keeps me coming back.

*

on the billboard, a pricey bicuspid the color of buffed sugar

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