A STROLL IN THE FRENCH QUARTER


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a stroll in the french quarter

the air becomes almost solid here

feels like you can cut it with a knife

it’s all thick sweat dripping slow and heavy

the clouds hang low and the city lights up the sky

trying to portray a forced happiness

fueled by hurricanes and grenades in plastic cups

but if you look down and not away

you’ll see where the weight of this almost solid air

fell those too exhausted from the race

lying on the streets of the quarter

shell-shocked by the empty failure of it all

watching the bourbon run out into the street

eye lids weighed down by moisture in the atmosphere

fading to black as the air solidifies around the dream

– vagabond ©

Shortlink: http://wp.me/p1eniL-1zM

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