Through tunnels

And spaces of

Electric smoke

The music ignites

Zipping on its corkskrew route

Over dim lit tables

Cloaked in ash

Fallen from sticks of

Smoking Camel Joe’s that

Sit on age-wrinkled lips

Painted crimson.

Their pick me up eyes

Stalking pinstriped Mack Daddies

Who catch their drift and

Throw them a faux silk line

beyond their poppy filled dreams.

All the while, the rhythm riding

The waves of the whisky river

That runs wild

Through fuelled veins.

From their psychedelic flicks

Eye clashes with eye

Dead feet rebel

And through the fog

Leaps a blast

Of brass necked trumpet

Beating clouds

Into soaring

Triple D’s

Challenging the

Kneale’s clarinet

Tripping out ‘Sweet Georgia Brown’

While the floor beats and buzzes

To the energy of chilli pepper feet

That hop like popcorn on a griddle top.

Necks snappin’ hands rappin’

Slick lizard hips rolling into the

Black, black night

Drowning out the din of

The stock market crash.