Alcatraz Jazz

What is Alcatraz jazz?
The sound that can’t get out,
dies trying.

Mourning doves cooed as
we sailed along
warped hallways paved
in goldenrod.

Stars blazed,
we chewed echinacea,
drank tea heady
with bergamot.

Believe it or not,
Alex Trebek was there.
We had all the answers.

“You got the answers?”

In a literal or a figurative
sort of way it
didn’t matter anymore.

No one almost
called the cops on anyone.

What is Alcatraz jazz?

Stool pigeons played pinochle with Moses.
He writ the score in stone.

Flutes, Kardashians, dogs
aloud growled, sure, but
they loved us, too, a sort of
low-watt LED equivalence.

“It’s all about the lumens,” I said.

Maybe it was always going to be this way.

It’s the dormitory I got drunk in,
had sex,
made my last landline phone call.

Voice over internet?
Do I have to choose?