Blues. The dance, the passing dance of life.
Can’t win cause I don’t got nothing I can lose.

The dances of life pass white. Then die. The Blues,
Music building castles with no moats,
Ivories blacking nights all whitening blues.

Catfish barbs bait abandoned Barbie dolls.
We dance against the fabric of bad times.

The wind resembles wounds we’re still to suffer.
John Lee Hooker knew. He knew the blues.

What wind resembles only poets can see.
There’s nothing there. It’s getting everywhere.

Coherence is a con game dream times play.

The waking wait for wakes to celebrate.
The sleeping dance as nimble as the quick,
The Southland’s magic making Yankees sick.

Chase the mighty dollar as it shrinks.
We chase a dollar that used to buy us drinks.

It’s all the change now come back from a ten
For that tequila sunrise starting off my day
Dancing on the edge of jumping off
Crying croc tears on Dorito chips,

Dancing shotgun patterns in the snow
Melting mucous membranes as we go.

Meniscus on cold coffee yields to spoon
Stir up shades of white enthusiasm
For black coffee poured on back-up blues.