Creole Junkyard

I traded in one dirty city for a week in another dirty city, city girl seeks out the dirt its where the substance thrives – first time in New Orleans I book into the Frenchman dump my bags and go out to walk the borderline area to see what is beyond I find a scrap yard horse in a vain attempt to reach the sky, across the street is Dr Bob art yard, more barbed wire and life-sized manikin of a clown not creepy at all I keep walking as the sun slips into late afternoon attire iridescent pink and gold threads the scene to my skin as i seep in the streets pass foreign homes that could house vampires with delicate flame of lanterns out to brave the night oh creole rumble strips music always music music music blowing and swinging like a spirit i like this new spirit this new side smoking by the Mississippi  river with strangers we smile have a nice life as we leave and there is no sorrow but exhilaration who would know the joy of shrimp and crawfish mouth organisms feet find jazz funerals and clouds for my head, i left you before i got to see your underbelly NOLA bye