I came across this blog today, Verse and Fustian Lore, and up at the top was this poem. I can't get it out of my head. It's fun to read, even confusing, but it flows so well with a jazzy sound that I read it over and over again to myself, picturing a blind New Orleans musician sittin' on the side of Bourbon Street, pickin' his tune to this poem.


COTTON TROTTIN ACROSST

Slowly explodin matching a black satin horizon of
Trees' tops stompin burnt umber under a shaded
Ecstatic adulation slappin the sidin blindly concussed
Crickets fusst at the absence of lighted bugs
That must be fashionably lost or late for Christ's sake
Jars are waitin in kids mitts playin and foolin around
In the flutterin dust dancin with the pouncin piggies
Of kids feet leapin through gloamin soon to run home and
Years ago been here before soarin overcast overhead
Sidewalks sizzlin evaporatin sultry in a settin sun
Pleased to seize the shade fightin for the day hatin
With rays of pure spite dryness and muggy swelter
Office high rises perspirin brick slick with summer
Slavin through twilight this early this gloom and
Soon aurora lured stage left and lifts constellations
Cloaked by cotton trottin acrosst crescent lit witching hour



http://bledwards.blogspot.com/