Chattanooga Nights

My legs are light and floaty
Better to lie down
Prostrate on a sheepskin rug
Of scratchy softness
The night is clear but
My eyes are cloudy
Other people swim in the fog

We laugh for no reason
Trying to find ourselves
In alcohol and herbs

I am a lover says one
I like words another declares
I live for art says the third
They turn to me

What am I
A runaway in an old ballroom
Hiding shame and uselessness
In pallid artistry

I am a flapper I say
Oh how the chorus cheers
I slink back into smoke oblivion
No future
Foggy present
Just a flapper with a past



 No punctuation in this one.  It's an experiment.  Did it fail or succeed?  Need more info?