The man bent over his guitar / A shearsman of sort. The day was green / They said „You have a blue guitar, / You do not play things as they are“ / The man replied, „Things as they are / Are changed upon the blue guitar.“ (Rolf Kühn Unit, poem by Wallace Stevens)

Even Miles was giggling in the darkness. / It’s always a bitch to be out / front. He summons the bassline / of his thoughts in the shadows, tracing a new theory / of silence. Don’t worry about the next gig. / Their ears are still learning. (Rolf Kühn Unit, poem by John Keene) for […]

Now it’s dark, you have my heart frozen on your empty face / Maybe soon my luck will change and love will find a resting place / I water flowers in the rain, I dance beneath your silver flames / I’m crippled by the sound of love beating in my lonely frame / This lonely […]