Laissez les bon temps rouler, et laissez les espèces des cons tailler mon pipe!

by angeliska on February 25, 2006

These are from New Orleans, around last Easter.

The church and Mary in the churchyard I always loved,
and my dyed green dresses dripping on the balcony.
I’ve been dreaming about this Mardi Gras for months now.
My internal clock has been a cuckoo until a fellow refugee reminded me
that I’m still running on New Orleans time- and ’tis the season,
one like no other and I know it’s time to come full circle back
to a town where the circle is not round.
I miss her like we all say, like you might miss your old lover-
her hair all tangled with moss over her eyes slightly
afraid and ashamed at the mess she’s become, how ill-used..
But next Tuesday morning we’ll let it all slide away, bust out brash
and brazen through the fog shaking what mama gave us.
Fragments of how I lived, my neighborhood, my morning ride
when everybody said hello to you on the street and the history
the scent of white flowers heavy, salt-teary and wistful..
I’m going back to her, albeit briefly- to kiss her on the cheek
and say goodbye properly.
I want to dance with you when I arrive,
I want to see that red sun rise.
My lady story
My lady story
My lady story
Is one of annihilation
My lady story
Is one of breast amputation
My lady story
My lady story
I’m a hole in love
I’m a bride on fire
I am twisted
Into a starve of wire
My lady story
My lady story
Lie in road for you
And I’ve been your slave
My womb’s an ocean full of
Grief and rage
My lady story
My lady story
My lady story
My lady story
And still you’re coaxing me
To come on out and live
Well I’m a crippled dog
I’ve got nothing to give
My lady story
My lady story
My lady story
My lady story
I’m so broken babe
But I want to see
Some shining eye
Some of my beauty
My lostest beauty
My lostest beauty
Read all about it:
Laissez les Bon Temps Se Lever Encore
(He describes her ever so aptly as “a feral, foam-flecked, be-sparkled, vodka-reeking, fluffy, snarling, maribou beast..”)
Krewe of Saint Anne
Fatal Eggs
and this…
A really amazing oral history project
featuring our 9th ward dearies by New York Night Train

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