Blood and Water
Posted: Fri Jan 25, 2008 1:10 am
blood and water
they say they found Ameila Earhart
and Jimmy Hoffa
holding hands
floating down the New Orleans river.
they say they found voodoo dolls
and skeletons in the closet
holding hands,
up to their necks with mud
and the blood
of roses from Longe Vue Gardens,
with only stuck needles
bright as porch lights waiting
for booty calls,
floating down the New Orleans river.
they say they found missing socks
and bikini tops
and lids and caps of everything from BiC pens to mayonnaise jars
to key holes of jealous lovers
holding hands as tight
as buds of flowers.
when you lose everything you don’t want anything anymore
except each other
going down the New Orleans river.
they say they found William Faulkner's typewriter
and Tennessee William’s reading glasses
and Carson McCullers’ pencil stubs
drowned in teeth marks
like rinds of a pomegranate
and Blanche Dubois’s pistol whipped heart
and all the dirty gardenias of T-shirts
going down the New Orleans river
with Stella gone,
with wind playing castanets
out of streetcars of undesirables,
with all the 911 messages
left unanswered in empty liquor bottles,
and “what you’re gonna do when
the water comes
for you
bad boys, bad boys,”
going down sucking on wild licorice
of the New Orleans river,
and all the potentates and sweet ladies
of jazz from Gospel
to Dixieland wailing out
the long parade of a happy funeral
for drowned rhymes
as if anything
music or poem
could ever be written on a sheet of
paper to brandish the awful tears on streets of water
to burn the fire out of the rain and wind
going down
the New Orleans river.
they say they found Ameila Earhart
and Jimmy Hoffa
holding hands
floating down the New Orleans river.
they say they found voodoo dolls
and skeletons in the closet
holding hands,
up to their necks with mud
and the blood
of roses from Longe Vue Gardens,
with only stuck needles
bright as porch lights waiting
for booty calls,
floating down the New Orleans river.
they say they found missing socks
and bikini tops
and lids and caps of everything from BiC pens to mayonnaise jars
to key holes of jealous lovers
holding hands as tight
as buds of flowers.
when you lose everything you don’t want anything anymore
except each other
going down the New Orleans river.
they say they found William Faulkner's typewriter
and Tennessee William’s reading glasses
and Carson McCullers’ pencil stubs
drowned in teeth marks
like rinds of a pomegranate
and Blanche Dubois’s pistol whipped heart
and all the dirty gardenias of T-shirts
going down the New Orleans river
with Stella gone,
with wind playing castanets
out of streetcars of undesirables,
with all the 911 messages
left unanswered in empty liquor bottles,
and “what you’re gonna do when
the water comes
for you
bad boys, bad boys,”
going down sucking on wild licorice
of the New Orleans river,
and all the potentates and sweet ladies
of jazz from Gospel
to Dixieland wailing out
the long parade of a happy funeral
for drowned rhymes
as if anything
music or poem
could ever be written on a sheet of
paper to brandish the awful tears on streets of water
to burn the fire out of the rain and wind
going down
the New Orleans river.