Jazz goose flesh

We are taut guitar strings
vibrating
in the opera of a
peepshow cabaret.
The anticipation of forbidden
playgrounds
runs up and down our spines
like the electricity
of Jazz goose flesh.

We’ve been weaned
from the moon’s sweet nipple
of LSD,
and have rolled in the rhythm
of Blue Grass
and Dixie music.

Our consciences are cleansed
by the sandpaper
of heavy metal;
and liberated
by the counsel of
the Blues.

We are branded by the smiles
of kindred strangers;
burnt by the tears of passion
squeezed from the eyes
of the Mother of us all;
the Universe.

She leads us on with
abandoned dances,
until we burst the seams
of frustration;
tears the flesh
of fear.