Brewing Slow

After all, the crumbs are enough.
Without the circumstance and pomp.
A more genuine existence of contentment.
Tolerating and allowing for most things.
Involved in few matters of importance.
Avoiding serious talks and damnations.
Pop a light in here, see what can be seen.
This inevitable karma is brewing slow.
Shock breeds more shock.
Madness breeds more madness.
Sadness breeds more sadness.
And they are all raised up to endure.

Sang some blues about heaven and confession, about boom towns and prize fights, about being left in the city on Hooke Street, about deep blues and being in a spot, about hurricanes and train crashes, about phenomenons and wildcatters, about Elmo's dad and WWII.

Texas Slim showed up, the sax player charmed the place, drummers were all over, spinning sticks and waiting to jump on the kit.  The keyboard player had style and a flute fluted throughout.  Forest, the bassist, caught the vibe quick and the guitars were the show.  Joe Vee Zee, with the Stevie sound, played as the soul singer in orange swayed.  The teacher took a turn and played some Van and Allmans.  Outside, the road was quiet, the night had slipped into morning.  The limits were reached, and we all escaped.