Chet Baker
Blows
Slow
On
That magic west coast trumpet
Cool ...
Haunting like all the great ghosts of the Pacific sea
Sighing ...
Like the woman
Now
Going down slow
She didn't invent the blow-job
But between you and I, it's like walking in Heaven
If Heaven's got it right
Under the influence
Of the spirit opening mouth, lips, tongue gently giving life to the beating heart Of Earth's most fragile creatures
Your soul believes in winged angels
And a good woman cannot be bought
Any easier than a gold record
You've got to have faith
An ocean of it
To get by in this world
Something tangible to hang onto
Like Chet's trumpet
Interpreting the chaos
Of beautiful girls spinning gently in summer dresses
Speedball destruction
Tostadas & enchiladas
It's in the mix
Chet moves me; moves her
Gives us something
Extra
An acknowledgment of the blue, blue devil inside
A western template
Chilling yesterday's scotch
Head bowed
His voice painful, evocative, Inspiring ...
So blow Chet, blow it slow and cool, cat
For Diablo
For Gabriel
For all those California blondes
Blow without your teeth, Chet
You didn't need a great smile
But you looked damn good on all those album covers
You had a gift
Jumping out of that hotel window
You had a gift
And you blew it, baby
You blew it real good.
