A VISIT TO MARDI GRAS

On St. Charles St.
Dixieland jazz
appears in a hat passed
out of nowhere
with confetti in a parade
of witnesses,
it must be an obsessive dream
of Poe from a century repast
along Canal and Bourbon
in a Lent costumed underground
with airs of old Absinthe
drowned in my course of tears
as Tennessee Williams is alive
crossing St. Louis Cathedral
with madrigals singing
above live jazz bloused blues
with crowns on our head
we sign out from our hotel
impressed as royal kings and queens
with shaving cream
or lipstick returned to their kits
yet our still life portraits
is not burning out in our party outfits
of fiery New Orleans memories
with gold gowns and silver coins for tips
when dawns drags out
another day as if prepared
for a last Apocalypse
a few souls carrying as safety pins
in their back packed search
for a brown or green scapula
near the St. Louis' church
near the Mardi Gras
with a Creole pecan laced dessert
for a last supper from their carnal sins.