Above Vitebsk
Them holy words floating on the bebop bad. ‘cause thems a cool of jazz in that mellow pad.
Above Vitebsk I see Chagall and his wife flying above Vitebsk, Van Gogh at Saint-Paul Asylum on a starry night. I see Monet at Giverny by his pond with the bridge, staring into at the water in the morning light. I see the gray forest is frozen in a infinite swoon and hear the sonorous music of its rising moon. Them holy words floating on the bebop …
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