“A Blues Man: Extremes”
A Blues man either is or ain’t.
A Blues man don’t drink socially.
A Blues man gets his clues, rhythms and instructions from haints…
For a Blues man prefers notoriety, locally.
It’s Jim, Jack and Johnny, the three wise men instead of pro-zac
Instead of couch, it’s the party pills, the weed, the crack….
and I ain’t talkin’ bout base baking soda neither, I’m talking bout that crack but there is some coca-cola along the lines…
Glass tables.
A Blues man lives within himself, himself lives within.
A Blues man ain’t just a man, ain’t just black.
A Blues man don’t believe in healing, just leaving.
A Blues man needs to feign suicide to live.
A Blues man don’t need no music only feelin’..
A Blues man never pays his bills on time, but always makes a killin.
Instead of stardust, he’s made of blood, sweat, tears.
He remembers dates by numbers of whiskey, wines and beers, not years.
He thinks everybody loves him, he thinks nobody loves him.
He’s a walking ball of organized fear, but it ain’t scared of nothin’.
He sings into a can and people listen but not hear, hear but not listen.
All the way back to the pews just to forget church, a blues man worships firm breast glistening, tongues of pearl, beeds of sweet, trees of knowledge…hissing.
A Blues man is a pariah, baptized by fire.
Sometimes he’s everybody, same times he’s no one.
Sometimes heaven says you ain’t clean and complete enough, sometimes hell says you too dirty even for us.
The middle ground, is red dusty clay, sawdust, sticky linoleum, dry-rote wood, slick ballroom floors, black-ass-black asphalt….
He’s the only one who knows, the smirk, everyone else think’s the end product, the whining, call and response effect…..is so cool.
Sometimes, he’s everybody, sometimes he’s no one.