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New Orleans Dear

Are the grasses greener?


are the grasses greener in new orleans, dear?

do they swim right up the mountains of your toes, flicking dirt and mist humming la vie en rose?

does the city air lull you to sleep?

and in the morning, does the coffee and beignet make the sun brighter?

are you baking beneath it, your paper white skin turning red stone ignoring

all the miles between us?


can you reach the heavens from new orleans, dear?

from atop concrete parking garages,

from atop saint joseph's,

do you see god looking down at you between her moon and street light glares,

like the sky is an empty key hole?


is the music louder out there?

i'll ask tonight

knowing you'll hum your way out of it,

imitate jazz from a trumpet,

smooth talker,

with your moon white grin raging

and though I won't see it

I'll hear traces of it

translated into electric words

edged by green summer grass

whistling in buses

drumming on streets

sent by post earth quake vibrations

turned morse code,

so my fingers can read you.

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New Orleans Dear
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