Roots brew, bones, and blues.
Black Queen in white dress,
Six-strings in a leather jacket.
Four strings layin’ it down,
right by the four beat settin’ the count.

Murphy arranged the law,
a twilight lockstep.
Murphy’s son interpreted the law,
revisiting implications of different vantage points.
Musically structural thoughts leading to
private manifestos of intention,
retention, of self.
Civil disobedience to social entanglements,
internal conflictions with external contraptions.

Circles of ritual to circles of bones
thrown onto transparent squares,
to perceive the point of conclusion.
The road home is a mulling,
a culling,
of lucid thoughts from the conundrum.