In Here Says Bob

In here, says Bob, tapping his temple,
I play the clarinet — Peanuts Hucko style.

In there, between solos on Robbin’s Nest
With Hawk and Sir Charles and Tyree,
And Ruby and Fathead and Trummy, Bob rests
Tapping his right foot on the studio floor.

Out here, Bob grabs a smoke — leaning against
A bass drum road case stenciled Do Not Drop
In white spray paint with bleeding edges, holding
A pawnshop licorice stick with busted spoon keys.

Out there, Bob transcribes a Sun Ra riff
On a wet reed with mouthpiece and ligature.
No barrel, no bore, no bell. Squawk goes Saturn
In a Blue Universe. Squawk goes the Solar Myth.

In here, says Bob, tapping his temple,
I blow the Huckle-Buck to the Omniverse.