In a Smoky Club In a smoky club, called the Red Stage, I slouch in a corner, And watch the red lights play double-dutch on your wild dreds. Watch the contortions of your face As you let your emotions flow In the form of Langston's occupation. Feeling the pain of past bodies and bodies to come Swaying on the red stage. Letting go and letting the world know the way that things come around. Slowly you lift your shaggy head As if all life force has flown with your poem. Smoky eyes lock with mine As you rasp into the mic "And that's the way it comes around." In a smoky club, slouched in a corner, I look into your eyes And snap my fingers.