Riffing on comments about the fantastic flavor flourishing in the Funk Zone.
I remember you
Like it was yesterday –
A pot of culture stew
Just bubbling away.
Manufactured style,
Cocooned creativity,
Those marooned-awhile
Tourists parking for free
Off the beaten path
But right near the action –
You needed a bath
Before forming your faction.
Once the spices simmered
And spread your aroma,
The umami splintered,
Caught melanoma.
Dormant while the stew was
Guzzled by the masses,
It ate up Because
And at Why took passes.
So the stew began
It’s metamorphosis.
Now only you can,
Ensure the flavor is bliss.