I’ve never been to New Orleans.
I’ve never seen the quiet mistress reflected
in the glass of closed shops.
Never seen the ocean, foaming
like warm, half downed beer spilling
over the rims of dusty mugs into the
thin, yellow glazed streets.
I’ve never seen the drunk blues man
tripping through language that
was never there to begin with.
Never heard the man rattle off “Baby,
I’m going to trace the life right out yo’ veins”.
Created: Jul 21, 2010Document Media