from New Orleans, with Love.

according to this computer, it's February 5th. my last post was on the 9th of May,
so I think I am doing pretty well in terms of keeping up with my blog. heck, I'm so
good, I am writing in the past as well as the present. are you keeping up, huh???

here's what I have today, a poem. one of the first I am sharing about my exp. in NO.

-----

the boys are bouncing off the bar and in-
to the warm receptive laps of their clientele.
they are fishing for pocket change to play
pool and shark the richer customers
with smiles and conversation.

This is the corner pocket, where
balls of all colors come to reside.

somewhere
beneath the smoky din
(they paid for that cliché,
god-damn-it) there is a Speaker,
once willing, now silent & pondering.

the world has crumbled before Him
yet the glassy eyes of boys on barstools
keep Him company. He loves them
and they feel it. together they share their hearts--
or the beating remains of former love.

the Flood washed so much away... and left so much Shit.
hearts beat poisons & broken seashells through the estuaries of their souls.

His fingers palm a greasy dollar, then maneuver to a crisp fiver.
He wants to feel alive tonight, if only in the comfort of a dream
that This boy will not go hungry on His watch.

---

Free