my shiny wrapper

hides a gossamer thin shell

of oval ego

the self-centred sick yolk

of albumenandwomen 

who seek attention.

you're looking at me

on the shelf, thinking

oeuf, oeuf, oeuf

love, love, love.

and I'm thinking

me, me, me

it's all about me, not you 

and I'm chocolate enough

to eat myself, if I have to.

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I'm wearing

someone else's smile

teeth that don't fit 

in this mouth 

that can't speak.

I'm not OK. OK?

don't ask me anything else 

because I'm not myself

I don't know why,

I couldn't say.

I'm striding 

around town, out of step 

in someone else's shoes,

laughing clown's feet 

that don't fit my mood.

I'm driving 

someone else's car

on the wro...

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smoky underground sounds

of free spirits of the street

fill the Harlem air.

it's improv, it's in the pocket

hands, fingers and mouths 

breathing life, it's the

birth of the cool,

cool notes of jazz.

drum lays down the beat 

that pumps the bass 

that drives the rhythm

Miles and 'Trane free-blowing

blowing out blue note

messages to the street. 

Monk in ful...

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