Queen of the Bayou

Looking into the sunset of the red golden orange pitcher in my fancy cabinet, with broken glass.
Kenny asks for mood lighting. His lady E, 20 odd years his junior, smirks.
Pure poetry, it slid down my throat like liquid myth.
One year older tasted sweet like rock n roll born bloody onto the street.
The saint bought me tarot cards,
we filled our eyes to the brim with liquid jars
walked crooked to sunnys
amber bitters were honey
in this waterfront I own,
smell like garden bonfire my home
and we all kept toasting
boasting
the most repetitive celebration there was.
my favourite little boy's mom let me swing him drunk
and the sunset red days bled into whiskey nights
there is never enough time
to waste wondering,
my body's humming it,
while joe strummer sings me to sleep on it.
...sometimes the crack of the reflecting light
is just enough, nothing gained nothing lost.
Everything alive and breathless.

~ M. Lucia