This is a fine example of dancing about architecture.
A couple of years ago, my wife gave me a calendar illustrated with pictures of jazz greats. One day I flipped from one month to the next, and here's this picture of a guy with a sax strap around his collar, and I thought "Oh, who's this guy?" I look closer, find the inscription, and... Charlie Parker? I was mortified. I hadn't recognize Charlie Yardbird Parker! What kinda schlub does that make me out to be! And I even have the temerity to think of myself as a jazz fan? For shame!
Well, that damned picture sat there for the month, mocking me, until one day I suddenly realized that I had probably never seen a picture of Parker without his mouth around his sax, much less smiling. It really is a beautiful picture.
The first version of this poem was huge, thick, long, and completely self-indulgent; this is the honed down version, and it's meant to be read at absolute break-neck speed. It is intended to resemble, in some way, Parker's playing style, although it doesn't, won't, and can't.