Our Man in Europe, dave delacroix: "A Murder of Blues."
Dark-dangst-nite! Red shoes, torn red dress, alley stinking of piss, one hand clapping, a SMACK of a kiss and SCARS don't fade; Love, HEARTS, a stolen Guitar resounds, a haunting to throng dreams that REFUSE to FWD to leave U in Silence, the murder of U?
Dark, dangst, and night-eyebrows that curl like Cats-Arch, ready to die or pounce, a reckless highway, a Grindhouse TruckStop, that whore-ish moment, by choice, we all choose, yet lament, plights sorrow, a conscious SILENCE, that silence, the murder of your Blues.
Dark, dangest night, a lily in a Pre-Raphaelite, sublime in time, UN-without, a harvest for WHA!? GODS dancing. Puppet Masters prancing. Illusory Icons, Imans, Rabis, Priests savoring your fall; a GYPSY tune, perhaps, quite Pagan, yet still ....a murder of Blues.
c.feb, 2025. Dave copright stuff. Got cancer.
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