A clothes hanger
clutches a line
of paper lanterns
lighting my next step
on streets my shoes stick to
from wheat beer
I hear the ‘Pit' coursing through cracks
& inebriating aged clay bricks
‘Pat”
of rain on rooftops
& falsely take it
for Charlie Parker's
'Hot House'
but it’s 2am near Tulane
& they’ve graduated to
tracks from Tremé;
Brass jazz & barflies;
Mad Hatters & Mademoiselles
dancing barefoot
in the French Quarters
under red fluorescent lights
under cloud-covered stars;
She gets them drunk off dance & song;
Guaranteed to make locals
late to last call;
shows them back-country gems,
the beautiful ruins known only
by bayou gals
& city folk
outside, in search of sirens
where the ceiling's missing,
dancing 'till their bodies taste like rain
They 'crash'
&
'splash'
.....breaking through worn wooden floors
& cracks in plaster walls
lead by the ‘Pit’ back to the street,
&
‘Pat’
as other strange drops join the dance,
descending from skies to rooftops;
Finding lower highs
in search of Bourbon Street
lost & looking
& near Tulane at 2am
my blue suede shoes are dying of thirst,
stuck upon each step;
lacking direction
& looking for jazz
waiting to drown
in the 'Pit'
& 'Pat'
& splash
of this daily rain dance;
Lose myself in this listening
as dreamers do
on the streets near Tulane
At 2am;
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC
A clothes hanger
clutches a line
of paper lanterns
lighting my next step
on streets my shoes stick to
from wheat beer
I hear the ‘Pit' coursing through cracks
& inebriating aged clay bricks
‘Pat”
of rain on rooftops
& falsely take it
for Charlie Parker's
'Hot House'
but it’s 2am near Tulane
& they’ve graduated to
tracks from Tremé;
Brass jazz & barflies;
Mad Hatters & Mademoiselles
dancing barefoot
in the French Quarters
under red fluorescent lights
under cloud-covered stars;
She gets them drunk off dance & song;
Guaranteed to make locals
late to last call;
shows them back-country gems,
the beautiful ruins known only
by bayou gals
& city folk
outside, in search of sirens
where the ceiling's missing,
dancing 'till their bodies taste like rain
They 'crash'
&
'splash'
.....breaking through worn wooden floors
& cracks in plaster walls
lead by the ‘Pit’ back to the street,
&
‘Pat’
as other strange drops join the dance,
descending from skies to rooftops;
Finding lower highs
in search of Bourbon Street
lost & looking
& near Tulane at 2am
my blue suede shoes are dying of thirst,
stuck upon each step;
lacking direction
& looking for jazz
waiting to drown
in the 'Pit'
& 'Pat'
& splash
of this daily rain dance;
Lose myself in this listening
as dreamers do
on the streets near Tulane
At 2am;
Meant to be read like jazz.......preferably, with bourbon
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