last call

Death, my old friend
i perch upon this french quarter stoop to drink with you
raise your bourbon and meet my glass
let us not speak of darkness and gathering gloom
but the eternal feast ahead
shall we sing to the stars or the waning orb?

Death, my old friend
i knew one day we’d dance here under gas lamps and galleries
take in deep once more the mighty mississippi
let us send whatever coins and mardi gras doubloons left in our pockets
skipping across cobblestones before sunrise
have we enough time for chess?

Death, my old friend
i welcome you with open arms
a promise kept, though liquor-drenched
let us relive our glory, our lifelong courtship with
one more wine before locking arms and stumbling towards the abyss
will you whisper one last story?

Death, my old friend
i perch upon this french quarter stoop to drink with you

chartreuse moth

the club was alive. teenagers--reminding me how old i was. i was a difficult teenager. a hitchhiker. a bum. in my mid-teens i had a habit, and by my early twenties, i was a full blown starfighter. 

it's easy to get stuck in plagues. blink your eyes and over 9000 years pass. often i wonder if things would have been different if i didn't thumb my way to the crescent city, eat from garbage cans, and play music to a ceaseless lonely moon. perhaps we should all be like that desolate orb, lifeless, drifting...

all the punishment i've done to myself. there are no woes outside my own design. most people blame this or that, but i accept failure. it's all i've ever known. 

i thought the storm would scare away the kids, but they showed up in force. budding sexuality and braces.

drink away your teeth. turn the music up too loud. discover new gods in the middle of the night. with jagged fingernails, tear off the soft flesh. claw it aside. it's past bedtime. the lambs howl at the moon with friendship ponies. genetically i am falling apart. breakfast club dice games and spicy bloody marys. you know i'm a gambling man.