Bourbon Street, New Orleans — Image by kenne
We party like pirates
who are going to be ghosts tomorrow
The streets are stained
with sweat and rain
The brick walls rent by the shifting earth
and in the fissure the hot green rot
of new life, licking at the flames
It is our pain
These gaping wounds
that make way for the river
that flows through us all
making us beautiful places to visit
Aching and crumbling
and crying make sweet breaking music
A trilling trumpet on the air:
One last drowning cry.
Erin Lierl
Bourbon Street, New Orleans
(Erin is a street poet)
