Author: Bob Kaufman

On yardbird corners of embryonic hopes, drowned in a heroin tear. On yardbird corners of parkerflights to sound filled pockets […]

Music from her breast, vibrating Soundseared into burnished velvet. Silent hips deceiving fools. Rivulets of trickling ecstacy From the alabaster […]

Where the string At Some point, Was umbilical jazz, Or perhaps, In memory, A long lost bloody cross, Buried in […]

Jazz radio on a midnight kick, Round about Midnight. Sitting on the bed, With a jazz type chick Round about […]