the imaginary night is full of imaginary jazz

tin cup stuck up stars
break black ink on moonlit bars
where everyones a shadow
of something great before

midnight blue birds perch on stoops
urban chickens free funk in their coops
coffee stained teeth chatter pretentious caffeine
where everyones a silhouette of
something great to come

and i wonder if it ever does
if it ever will
and who knows the names of
shadows and silhouettes