colbalt blue light of dusk

in contrast to the amber of a 60 watt bulb

the smell of scottish peat evaporating into the air

alone in a chair on a wood floor in an empty room

listening to robert johnson echoing from the past

in a muddy land devoid of scotch whiskey

empty of time to contemplate

full of other mans demands

hammering his hands on thin wood and gut

or is it steel, did the devil grant him that cleaner buzz?

slave to passion, the land, and organized vibrations

blue tuesday.

�Alex R Singh 2008