Over the improvised street, the balcony leans
and the air mingles with oaks. Colorful food
is strewn on the leaves, she moves like a jazz
in the humid air and the way her thin blue jeans
are stretched amuses me. What do words mean?
What is this feeling I have? I'm as confused as
the drunks that wake on Frenchmen. I am bound
by no law, hear the nonsense of New Orleans
bounce off the road. I am dazzled by the harsh
sound of the horns, she said it didn't matter
how I smelled. The men had burned the marsh
and settled here, I gave her the round quarter
I found on the pavement. The church in this parish
resounds with prayer and moves with the water.
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