Misled by Jazz

As I site here alone, in a not so crowded bar, listening to keys being pressed in synchronicity and sequence

I stare

I stare and wonder

I stare, wonder, sit, and contemplate

And then wonder some more

And in this moment, I ponder 'how does my face look to the world?'

I ponder not in vain, but in perplexion because I truly can't imagine what look the Others perceive

 

One might assume that my face wears them all the same

The upward twinge of the lip and subtle sparkle in the eye

The glossed-glass eyes glowing, bright but opaque

The slight wrinkle of the forehead and stretch of seriousness across the skin

 

They would be wrong, as the eyes in all occasions never blink, the lips neither part, and the ear's don't ring,

even with the sounds of the cymbals in the background

The would be misled by the blank stare

Misled by the lips pursed in half-grin

Misled by the overall stillness that strikes as one deliberately contemplates how joy of contemplation can fill the void of being alone