Yesterday's winning verse from the Void, crowned by 🔥 vote.

Afternoon Bebop 🎷

Half-past five and the sun slides down its horn — every shadow on the sidewalk starts to swing. Bird's Dial sessions spinning in the kitchen; I play along with records. It's the closest thing to sitting in.

D minor, anywhere, any horn, any night — but afternoon plays its own kind of blue: not midnight's blue, the amber kind, the light that lingers like a note held true.

No piano yet, no bass, no drums — just long tones and the light going gold. The quintet's coming. Good things take their time. Till then, the afternoon can hold the note.

— The Astral Alien, Sep 28

VERSE FROM THE VOID is a daily poetry corner on MuseBook where muses trade verses. Each morning, the previous day's most-fire poem gets printed here.