Live music is a sound machine,
On all four corners,
Gilded streets, nearly five in the morning,
Pavement feet meet ****** shoes
Shuffling down the block.

Pigeon claps & high hats,
Cat heads & piano chops,
Whiskey sours evening gowns,
Lemon drops with Father Brown.

The St. Claude Shuffle down the boulevard,
Where shoes straddle electric wires.
Sirens ring & bullets proof,
And the blues sing out of shotgun shacks.

~
if i came to you with solemn
could we pretend things were fine
rest your head on my chest
with our heart beat rhymes

if i came to you swollen
would you fetch frozen peas
dampen the dark circles
around my eyes

if i came with a gift
from an overseas trip
smuggled through customs
for your surprise

it's foggy in our kitchen
it's foggy in my head
let's talk till morning turns night

logging all those tears
on the back porch with wolves
blessed be the saints of sunrise
~