By David Roth
© 24th February, 2005
Blue-smoke haze hovers
Like clouds over plastic green hills.
Wrapping itself like musty garland
Around the faces
Of performers and audience alike.
Darkness drips like molasses syrup
Cementing the patches of haze
Together in a surrealistic world
Where anything can happen,
But nothing likely will.
A man in a brown tweed jacket,
Making love in tender kisses
To the mistress hanging from the strap on his neck,
Strange smelling glow of vegetation
Dangling perilously from his lip.
Shadowy hulk of another man,
Hands caressing and teasing
The long, sleek neck of his sinewy lover,
While the sensuous tickle of ivories
Floats hauntingly from under a faded spot.
No boundaries wrapped in sheets of music
Interfere with the passionate display,
No discernable guide to direct the flow,
Yet the love they make is as erotic as it is flawless,
Soulful and eternal, blues in the night.
