To find love in the eyes of an undead sympathizer is
to let black cats live among the southern swamps of the apathetic heart.
Allow our coffin to be the purgatory of the road-
Here's to the Dewey decimal exits from Jersey to Louisiana:
(Oh, she likes it a little dirty)
The queen of New Orleans leads us to the land that makes her rule great-
there are eagles and pterodactyls in the bleeding golden sun.
The river has gators up there too;
below us they laugh and sharpen their teeth.
The sunset of my life, mirrored by Twain's pisswater.
Behind me, the etiquette of crackheads is addressed,
subtlety in beauty, of course.
Weeping branches scratch at my mermaid tail-
tunnels from here to you.
These streets have sleeping giraffes under majestic oaks,
elephant trunk ladders under pollution planted, graffiti painted skies-
Brad Pitt's wet dream.
Poor boy stomachs and a full tank of gas are what drive the French Quarter-
cigarettes are cheap too.
Hawks are drunk and screaming in our ears,
but the city is divine.
Bougie friends explain string theory wrapped up over
teenage pregnancy and the looming apocolypse,
all while a cigarette lit from the wrong end hangs from her lips.
Alabama carries handbag puppies and blueskygreenwater roads,
speed freak anemics here in Dante's taco hell.
Antique snowstorms and pickaninnies packing pepper-
miracles on the shore today! Flying fecal foliage-
walking on water is left for the clever lepers.
The night ahead is effigy of the sun in the west,
ask Mississippi and her factories,
they can tell you louder than me-
New York taught me volume is truth.
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