No one talks about the blues.
They play them.
They wax lyrical about them, they make hearts shed tears that blaze trails down pale cheeks.
But nobody talks about the blues.
They are always sung as a song, written as a searing stanza, put together in a perfect poem, or punctuated with breaks in a heartbreaking haiku.
The blues are always a basic outburst rendered art.
No one speaks about the blues. They play about them.
Or if they’re me, click a photo all ‘bout them.