poem index

poet

Sean Singer

by this poet

poem

I am the corner and the cab’s glow-up roof.
A tuba and air synth march down Stanton St.

Do a rhumba for an espresso foam by the green lights.
Notice how this dude in the yellow pants is embarrassing himself.

Trying their best to dougie to "My Favorite Things"
And a sexy woman

poem

"There’s no such thing as bop music, but there’s such a thing as progress."—Coleman Hawkins

Although jazz’s sepia, acetates, and lacquers have dipped the black into silver nitrate, and are faded little faders, they inflate like lungs. The pink lung, with its tortoiseshell shellac