Muddied intentions. Salt in the eye. The beholder might cry and tie his saddle to a mule. And head hatless to Tucson.     You know he's gonna have some blues between here and there.   Skeeters and horse flies. Cleaning the stall. Cat's got a mouse against the wall and the hay smells expensive and sweet. Walter Cronkite's still trying to convince Ruby A'Shem to give up her hair dresser.     You know he's gonna have some blues between here and there.    Salacious yearnings. The things you hear. I heard Ponce de'Leon used to skip to his baking class disquised as Mother Wilkens hen. It ain't about the beak. It's about the cackle. Triangles too.     You know he's gonna have some blues between here and there.   Walrus barking with just one lip. Tides turning. Moon changing. Basho smiling.     There it is.

Just trying this out.

This is the blues blog, from Antoine Salley.