"South Style (Smoke Break Intermission)" genre: Poetry
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	Rabid organ and bass tune accompany this poem about a club pianist driven mad.
	CD: A Cacophony of Near-Fatal Mistakes   Label: TWHI Credits: Words and Music by Seth Flynn Barkan
	Lyrics SOUTH STYLE’S MERRY CHRISTMAS IN A BAR THAT ISN’T REAL: (A Ragtime Two Step for the Sad Luck Gang) South style thumper Plugs away at the page, Everything going all At once now, a big deal He is, in this world. She would laugh like Madman’s keys, striking Like gold, grimacing At the top, sudden, Sharp, perfect and tight. South style keeps His game clean, no, Not a midget shot for him, Still, could slurp one Out of mad sadness. Chalk it up to lack of Scrab, or maybe Mingus Talking to his Unconscious from 86’ South style wonders, Then turns to worry but Things are coming Together now, and it Should all work out for Him and his in the end. A pox played finger roll Kneads out the beats From the back of the bar And the mixer for a Margarita provides the Squeal of the Sax and High Tone harps about Straight 8 Johnny G’s Eight ball in his pocket And South style struts And crimps in shadowed Stage silences, fingers Glaring and bleating to Be shrugged off by snores From the chairs. Things are sweet in stride. copyright 2002 by Seth Barkan

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