THE SPEAK EASY

bakeem lloyd (blloyd@lvrj.com) is a poet and graphic designer living in Henderson, NV. He is currently finishing up a full length manuscript entitled, "little boy blue." It chronicles his transition from teenage into young adult life (from 16-21). bakeem draws inspiraion from anything he can, from the poetry of Neruda, Basho, Alice Walker, Nikki Giovanni and the Harlem Rennisance to jazz and anything performed by Miles Davis. "kind of blue," draws its genesis from "Blue in Green," the third track on Miles Davis 1954 offering "Kind of Blue."

kind of blue

what color were your eyes

when you closed them
and opened your mouth as if to get a better view
finally unobstructed by the silence

you speak in a voice so low and deliberate
that i must press my lips against yours

just to hear the words

there's a vague familiarity
in the way you trace the contour of my lips

your pinkie finger resting so gently
against this silent instrument

i have never seen you play piano
but it is easy to imagine

your ringed fingers
unstopping deaf ears
or bringing voice to the mute
if i were still being scientific
i would remind you how all sound
can be reduced to vibration
which is why even now
when i find it difficult to speak
there is still music
the tremble in my sigh is a g flat

***

tonight you are an alto saxophone
a golden seahorse resting upon my chest

the sound you produce
starts in the back of my throat
with one deep breath
and doesn't cease resonating
until it reaches the tips of your fingers

and at this point i am overwhelmed

the established music takes an irrational turn

my heart begins to beat off rhythm
something within me is dying

fearing a total loss of control

the logical mind recoils
and launches a counter attack
flooding the other hemisphere with mathematics

2 - 4 - 16 - 64 - 4096 - 16,777,216

desperate for answers some of the numbers become letters

a squared plus b squared equals c squared

there are 360 degrees in a perfect circle

12 points on your body
separated by 30 degrees

zen poet basho said that there are nine holes
in the human frame
from which the spirit plots its escape

with that being said
how far can the two of us travel in 4.5 seconds

at the speed of sound
at the speed of sound
at the speed of sound

i am lost
trapped at the bottom of a well

shadowed craters pot mark the surface of my intellect
but beyond all this
the alto saxophone keeps reaching for me
past my logic and my doubt
i can hear it screaming wanting to be heard

needing me to hear it
i am gone
and this instrument is pleading with me
baby don't over think the angles
baby don't over think the angles
please baby don't over
think
the
angles
the last note
the longest fingers of an outstretched hand
desperate to reach me

and then silence

i always over think the angles