I want music no one can dance to.
Give me five against four, man;
give me thirteen laid on eight.
That's cool with me.
Let me ride roller coaster beats
above an amusement park
of bebop horns.
Let me off the merry-go-round.
Going in circles gets you nowhere
and I've been there, man.
I've been there too many times.
I can't rock and roll anymore.
Stephen Brooke ©2007
Of course, "I" (the I of my poems is not necessarily I, the writer) don't sit around listening to free jazz all day. It's a metaphor.