older crowd

blues-

to an empty room…

of chattering,

the splatter

of date night upon

the barmaids,

masters and men-

and yet,

the band plays on

as

the dying middle class ticket

demands

whore’s bill

goes on

with time

and the dull

‘toot’

of synthesized Satchmo

nearly happened

they yammer

of,

television

and precision they only

lie-

a night to do what not,

what ought not be,

scheduled confining,

but have at anyway

oh, those self-sold

responsible-

as the photog appears

as Townshed,

were the guitar

never met

blues-

to an empty-headed room-

of dollar signs

yes,

the same

that resides the blame

‘long with

the self (afflicted)

ramen noodle poets

and note takes,

and those envies

one can’t

shake

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s