It is a peculiar word, jazz Its illegitimate origins lost in the murky brothels Where it was conceived and burnt But many observers have told us that jazz used to mean sex And maybe it needs to go back to meaning sex To being identified with coitus and copulation Hyper-creativity, fecundity and birth Ultimately, perhaps, it is good that the people abandoned jazz Replaced it with musical products better suited to capitalism's designs Now jazz jumps up like Lazarus if we allow it To re-discover itself as a living music A subvеrsive sutra of inner movеment, fertility, tension and release Released now from the prison bars of metrical stability And the black and white keys of chromatic incarceration Swing becomes a quantum oscillation of adventure An expedition into chapters of black history That did not survive the fires at Alexandria A journey into black futures that have not been lived and will not be realized Unless and until we can dive into Willie Dixon's spoonful And bathe ourselves in that jazz Pour it into our scalps, massage it into our aching joints Paint it across the soles of our feet Then we can dance the Juba into New Congo Square That Sonny has built for us between the rings of Saturn Between C-sharp and B-natural Be natural, be natural