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By coujeaux Date: 2005 Sep 25 Comment on this Work [[2005.09.25.15.35.23646]] |
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Finishin' touches, wipe 'er down, got full tanks of pushwater an' beer and deeppocket cash, Unflap a pack of matches from a Biloxi riverboat sinhouse and blaze up my premium stash. Slide bulletsteel in the glovebox case some sucker think he gonna try and harsh my groove, 400 screamhorse V-8 case under the hood and ragtop chariot sayin' "Son, we built to move!" Zero to sixty faster'n a blink, smokin' down Interstate 10, dashboard fuzzsniffer, eyes peeled, In, out of traffic, pinball style, blarin' blues louder every mile to the rhythms of tires squealed. This here's the South, stranger, down where we boil seacritters, suckin' the heads, tossin' tails, Threenight stay, you gotta sample etouffee at Vera's outta Slidell; freshcatch straight from pails. Overdose on Hurricanes in New Orleans, hear the ivoryticklers at Pat O'Brien's, do tip them well, 'Cause they'll take you to land of jazzboogie ectasies that Mardi Gras nipplequeens can't outsell. Nightfall summons sultryswells of Creole mamasitas with eaglespread hellos and lovin' squishes, Find yourself a vodun mojoman got hisself ti bon ange protect you 'gainst gettin' drunken wishes. Whitesand tryst in the Pensacola hotlist o' Florabama dropjaw hotbaby femmes, damn they sweet, Limp from their delight to crash in Mobile for tonight to sleep off twin intoxications 'fore we retreat. Oh, that noonsun's burning weary eyes but oh those busty softsighs make me long for all the more, Got rendezvous in Ponchatoula due tomorrow, off I race, but I blow a kiss though my mouth is sore. Wind in hightight hair, don't matter if it's here or there, drippin' in Gulfwater sweat whets this crave, 'Long the coast livin' in sin's what we do the most and regret's 'bout the last thing makes us behave. 07/27/2005 Author's Note: XXX XVIII, Poem #5. |