Undressed in New Orleans

My songs all come in color,

Like a burnt out film strip they play repeatedly in my head,

My head is a combination of neurosis, beauty, and poison led,

Demons that need to be fed, constantly, they always choose to come out in poetry,

But so do some of my most cherished memories,

Some of the most beautiful things,

Like the day I had in New Orleans,

Moaning cathedral bells reaching into the sky,

Soulful jazz carving itself into the ground below,

Trumpet as a shovel;

The sun plays the role of the vocalist,

Narrating the fine line between heaven and hell,

The fine line between confession and bliss,

I envision myself snorting that line,

Because there’s nothing more spiritual,

Yet there’s nothing more evil,

Bring your demons,

Bring your saints,

But probably you should bring your friends,

To New Orleans.


It comes to me in many colors,

Streetcars and cathedrals over my shoulder,

Hurricane drinks for a place where the mention of hurricanes makes people weep,

There’s no ideologies,

It’s as primitive as can be,

But we’re smiling,

And just as we think the dream is going to end,

The film strip will burn out and we will wake up,

We stay out until 5 AM,

And we drink up.


It plays in my head vividly,

My day I spent all day and heaven and neglected the purgatory,

French kissing quarter french girls just outside of the French quarter,

Like I was a wishing-well filled up with quarters,

All my dreams coming true,

And it only got better when one of these angels took me to her bedroom,

The moaning cathedrals were drowned out by Catharine’s moans,

She said:

“Baby, you’ll never live here,

But this will always be your home”.


And I’ve never forgot the way she spoke to me,

50 shades of Grey, but 50 more shades of dignity,

Every scream of pleasure, but every scream a plea,

Like she was playing my therapist,

Saying if you can live in happiness,

Why not make that your nightly dream?


So I got on a plane,

And the jazz faded away,

The citizens looked like fire ants from the skyline,

Fire ants smothered by clouds,

Like the way the lips on Bourbon Street were suffocated by cocaine,

My natural reaction was to grieve,

So I bought myself the stiffest of all the stiff drinks,

Hope it would go straight to my liver,

Yet hope it would erase all memories,

But then I remember Catharine,

A drink wrapped in a dress,

Squalor and filth,

Yet beauty that could not be suppressed,

An intoxicating deity,

Her mixture of exuberant jazz and confessional cathedral moans,

Beckoned me to my sleep,

And helped me dream….


Of the song that I’m writing right now,

The colors are black and white,

Yet there’s never been so many gray areas in between,

And I guess that’s our life and that’s our pain,

Our bliss,

But what Catharine taught me,

Is that your bliss can always be repeated,

And it can drown out the moans of the cathedrals,

The complicated maze we live in,

You can escape it all when you record this song,

And think of me,

Undressed in New Orleans.




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