modern caravan

in the romantic battle for love
the souls of many good men have been left for dead.
the romantics
and the gents
who died with the age of
battleships.

the men in suits
drinking their martinis
have all gone fishing
in the wind.

the time well-wasted,
the calls and the voice mails,

the loveless drinking in their
downtown street corners
have
watched them all go by
with their new girls

drinking in a jazz club
alone
with all the blank faces
I wonder why they are even here

the beautiful thing about jazz is not knowing
what's next

and that's dangerous in a modern time like this...