I want to walk amongst the ghosts
see the dark lights illuminated ominously
hear whispers in my ear down these ancient corridors
The horn will guide me home
drift on the fog through willowed grapevines
the spirits will catch my breath
The smell of smoked paprika and hot peppers
haze defines their silhouettes
tattooing their angst in the hope of the living
Stomach is hungry waiting for gumbo
ready, more than postured to be satisfied
death in life in all consumed apparitions of history
af
(written with pen on paper back home in new orleans)
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