Last night I dreamed a wild and bluesy sonnet.
I was not only with it, but in it and on it!
There was this blue-striped steaming hornet
Playing this humungus fuchsia cornet.
His name was Ornette the group a nonette.
I doubled flageolet. (My ax is clarinet!)
We played a cool set — two blues gavottes,
a blazing minuet by Georges Bizet transposed
from A! Then a taste of Beaujolais, devoured
gangs of crepe suzette, a stack of Lady Day with
VP Quinichette, a nip of Chardonnay, and
to settle it, a set of Sid Bechet! O lay!
Man, I think that I shall never see a blues that's sonnet
done other than by hungry, smoking hornets and in flatted B!
Poet RUSS TRAUNSTEIN, appearing in these pages for the first time, lives and writes in Brighton, MA.
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