D.B. Cox on the Other Side of the
chet baker wore khakis
posed on stage:
dark suit,
trumpet in his hand,
stark & glassy,
vaguely sinister,
a beautiful face
with a smile
as mysterious as
the mona lisa’s --
a film-noir scene,
come to life
playing a kind of
jazz-haiku, with
an ache in his tone
that hints at the dark
secrets hidden behind
his distant stare
each phrase, suspended in air,
like a trail of cigarette smoke:
“my funny valentine”,
“this time the dream’s on me” --
small truths, falling
from the bell of his horn
like cool indigo,
& the place he sang from
was utterly untouchable --
like a child singing
to himself, as he plays alone,
like the sound of
solitude for sale…
nobody knows
why he climbed
inside the darkness
of his own soul --
stumbling down
street after mad street,
determined to find
the closest point of departure
accommodating
all the people
who wanted to see him
crash & burn --
all those good-time,
i-told-you-so brothers,
who can now smile,
as they take their last,
righteous shots
at the “golden boy”,
the “great white hope”
of jazz trumpet --
a jazz icon,
ultimately reduced
to a photo,
in a meaningless,
madison avenue
sales campaign – (GAP)
“chet baker wore khakis”…
© Copyright D.B. Cox 2004