Headin’ Home

Seems I’ve lost my mind
Out past the point of caring;
I’m sitting here quietly,
So why is everyone staring?
I need’ve have yelled,
And I hate to shout,
But can someone please direct me
To the door that leads out?
Putting this house on the market,
Gonna get back to the parishes;
Find that bend in the river
And live in a light that nourishes.
Maybe find that creole girl—
The one with a heart of crawfish and gold!
She’d be settling to take me on,
The real sad truth be half-times retold.
Seems I’ve lost my mind
Somewheres way over there;
I’m sitting here so quietly,
But man, how the arresting officer does stare.
He don’t know I’m heading home,
Once I get the next clear chance.
Hey ti’ fille:
Wanna dance?

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New Years’ Plea

Wannabe summers else
Fall into a new line
Get a rented house
That’s all mine
Leave this center
Of pompous lies
Creole up some love
Eat too many alligator pies
Win my own witchy woman
Neath a sly Cajun Moon
Get me outta here man
Before I do sumpthin stooped soon
Hours slow counting down
New Years is right oer there
Open the Mumm’s?
Not sure I very much really care
Just find get a new zip
Somewhere south of I-10
Come on man
Don’t make me beg again
Wanna be summers else
Listen to alligators stalking
Finally finish that cool book
By Mister S. Hawking
If you hear this plea
Text me soon—
Let’s all dance underneath
The next sly Cajun Moon

Following No One

I seem to be slouching
Forward onto my hospice bed
But I still remember my name
And I’m sure the cat’s been fed
But I can’t open the Just Tart Cherry
And the shoulder’s crap as per usual
All the Senators have stopped representing
Their polity with a calm and disdain casual
Tracked my keys into the box
Outside the box of what I can remember
Who I am and where I’m going—
I’m sure Fest Acadien is still in November
Pouring the second merlot
They say it’s good for my heart
I should move over to Alexandria
If I’d ever own what it is to be smart
Summter lingers on here is Austin
Need to replace the ac filter soon
I hope the rains pass soon
I wanna to see the Harvest Moon
But I know what’s coming
And I should get ready
But I’m so tired these days
And my thoughts are unsteady
To pack all this important stuff again
Boxes in boxes, memories in stiff cardboard
I had followed her here, a path made easy
But now to move for myself, O Lord
I’ll die here in Casablanca
Or any likely foreign shore
Not ready for the next chapter
Not alone, at least; not anymore
But time to let Jack out into the night’s stew
Hey Mr Tambourine Man
In the jingle jangle morning…