His feet are planted in the blues.
With a whole lot of life in his face,
and scars on his guitar strings
he pours truth into beer bottles
back lighting bar dreams.
You can take a song from the street,
but you can’t take the street out of the music
when notes traffic every alley of pain
through a voice scuffed by tread marks.
In the dim light of bodies chasing escape
he sings solo to a choir too whisky throated
to trust the chorus.
He’s been where they are…He’s left where they’re going.
©Susie Clevenger 2020
