BRUBECK

West Coast sounds more downtown
Manhatten, like the rhythm of desperate
feet; like the cardiac murmur: red green; 
crowds pushing at the seams then 
released; the frisson of a pulse marking
time; the flourish of a horn weaving threads, 
through the brush stroke steady on the skin; 
the bustle of the sound; the movement of 
the crowd,  the rock ready jazz of their limbs. 
Body of the bodies of them all; busy 
with the business of the world; shoes on 
the sidewalk all marking time; sound along
the avenue walls; skipping to the regulated
beat of the endless procession of feet
and the weave and the rush where there's
never enough of the music of the madness
of the streets.