Ode To Nina Simone

Fanblades and applewood
floors, walls clad
in the opaque of old music,
vinyl Cannonball, Bird; miles
of ubiquitousness universal
like the language of tempos' lust;
clichés a motley bouquet
of principled tedium
bored like unbridled Bohemia,
a mélange of audacious
ceilings, of a spontaneous heaven, clouds
clad in hues
of integrity vapors, virtue
unpretentious as Ms. Nina's
Do I Move You?

And the answer…

Copyright © 2005 Jacquii Cooke