Plahm does something rare here: he creates a poem that is also a song, complete with verse-chorus structure, call-and-response refrains, and a coined word—”Filswanky”—that functions simultaneously as dance move, philosophy, and incantation. The opening couplets deploy classic twelve-bar blues repetition (“From something heartfelt, to something disastrous / From something heartfelt, to something catastrophe”) establishing the form before breaking it with the unexpected third line’s twist. The “Filswanky” refrain operates as both musical hook and participatory command: “Stomp your feet, clap your hands / Spread that groove across the land.” The poem’s midsection conjures a juke joint in vivid sensory detail—whiskey glasses clinking, pool sticks whirling, ice cubes flying—before the mood shifts toward intimacy: “My simple lead to a sensual night with you. / Deep, deep, deep, into you.” The B.B. King tribute—”BB would be Filswanking / and giving a huge Lucille smile”—names both the legend and his famous guitar, grounding the poem’s invented mythology in blues tradition. The beloved becomes “the muse of music,” her smile equivalent to Lucille’s wail. The closing stanza achieves genuine blues melancholy: moonlight humming through haze, drifting souls in a midnight blaze.

A swaggering, infectious blues poem that demands to be read aloud—preferably with a band behind it. Plahm’s greatest innovation here is “Filswanky,” a nonsense word that somehow communicates perfectly: it’s dirty, joyful, rhythmic, and irreverent all at once. The blues structure is authentic—repeating first lines with a twist on the third—and the verse-chorus alternation creates genuine musical momentum. The juke joint scene is the poem’s most vivid passage, packing more atmosphere into six lines than most poems achieve in sixty. The B.B. King tribute is handled with affection rather than reverence, which feels right for a poem this alive. The shift from communal stomp to private intimacy mirrors the blues tradition of moving from the dance floor to the doorway. Minor weakness: the “Filswanky” refrain, while infectious, appears so frequently that it risks wearing out its welcome—though in live performance, this repetition would likely become its greatest strength. The closing image of moonlight humming through haze achieves the quiet ache every great blues song needs after the noise. A poem that proves Plahm can channel musical tradition as convincingly as he channels romantic devotion.