Bar-room murmurs a dripping beat, <br />loud with sounding brass <br />and heavy metal thunder. <br /> <br />Lightening up in perfumed clouds <br />of illicit smoke <br />we badmouth in street talk <br />this lifeless life. <br /> <br />Poor art. Poor you. Poor me. <br />Pour me. Pour over me <br />in liquid waves <br />falling scales of <br />blue, blue notes. <br /> <br />Time runs <br />at thirty three and a third, <br />scratching out our dusty soundtrack. <br /> <br />Fading into terrific <br />silence.<br /><br />James Mills<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/blue-notes/
