Tina Turner

I find myself dancing.

Knowing damn well

a city can take as much

as it can give.

I turn Tina up loud.

Light a candle,

hand-poured in Mississippi,

hints of verbena and makrut.

As for what gin can do,

sting like a song,

prolong a lifelong truth.

Erase memory with movement,

watch the hands of time move through.

It’s always the same question.

What’s left for us to do?

A lifelong reverie, bound by

yesterday and the blues.