Quincy Troupe

Poem Reaching For Something

we walk through a calligraphy of hats slicing off foreheads Ace-deuce cocked, they slant, razor sharp, clean through imagination, our Spirits knee-deep in what we have forgotten entrancing our bodies now to Dance, like

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in brussels, eye sat in the grand place cafe & heard Duke’s place, played after salsa Between the old majestic architecture, jazz bouncing off All that gilded gold history snoring complacently there Flowers all

Snow & Ice

ice sheets sweep this slick mirrored dark place Space as keys that turn in tight, trigger Pain of situations Where we move ever so slowly So gently into time – traced agony The bright