Armstrong
The
son of the heralds brass tongue,
once a proclaimer of pomp
and the slaughterers sign,
an orphan boy came
from
hunger to play on the horn
of plenty a brilliant noon
of July, to pronounce
illicit feelings
of
love from the rooftops, that laid
down revolutionary terms
and made the conquerors
instrument a voice
of
hosts it had not spoken for,
defeated and dispossessed,
the grey weight of whose tears
were turned from the bell
to a downfall of unsurpassed gold,
to the pearls that Louis
from Storyville scattered
over the blue world.
His
namesake a lifespan later
set foot upon virgin dust,
but Satchmo had told us
to walk in the sun.
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