Our thoughts of time travel burnt-up when Junior sang The Blues.
Foreign creature. ***** voodoo muppet.
His spaniel’s moan, a call to mud, digging deep like “woo-woo-woo”
Smacking the past in the chin, he dipped a laden lead melon in a barrel of black molasses. A slow lowering, tender sinew slackened. Unclawed- the orb traversed his finger tips nicking his nails on the way earthward. The black drink parts then floods back where it once was, coating the cold round load as it sank down below the Mason-Dixon line.
Junior gurgled in slow-mo dipped his Gibson and stirred the stew, made the black brew dribble over the barrel’s shoulders and puddle in the thick sticky corners and cracks of the Juke’s oak planks.
He fished it out then -bladaplowplow- -WHAP!!- split that melon in half, no knife, they used the trap, then Junior took his break to take a nap in Baton Rouge.
blues great Junior Kimbrough's one of a kind sound