Riverflow Blue

He cracked the top of his head, and the fire leaked out. His eyes were emerald green, and his skin was copper – descendant of an Egyptian God distilled into human form. He was whistling a bebop arrhythmia that dreamed of Bird, danced around Miles, and saluted Dizzy.

He stepped over a river where the soul of Kings flowed; blues notes pooling in the hollows, and pressed a sky with a hand that wanted to claim it belonged to Hendrix. It rained, and his fire burned on.

Across the street he saw a woman humming a tune, he went over to her and he kissed her on the cheek. Her head bloomed orchid pink with a blue tongue, and the room blinked itself as dust through light beams. Time slipped back through his heart like the snaking heart of a treble clef. He was at home, and he laid his head on his eiderdown pillow, and the world evaporated.

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