Deep water / Like a river underground / Speaks thunder / And never makes a sound (Jeffrey Foucault)

— · — — · — My metapher is a blues / Hot pain dealin blues is a blues axin / Guitar voices whiskey broken niggah deep / In the heart is a blues in a glass filled with rain / Is a blues in the dark / Slurred voices of straight bourbon / Is […]

What we want is to be brass. / The horn-scratched voice blown through. / Valves as golden as his. Lord as crazy sex / Or first real heartbreak (Peter Brötzmann, poem by Patricia Spears Jones)