Blog Archives


Well you can have yr napas
And your alexandres valley too
But for me
Sweet Charlene
Its gotta be sonoma
If you wanna more

Go those screaming pitchers
And the foam runs like no tomorrow
But for me
Sweet Charlene
Its gotta be sonoma
If you gonna git me

Play them ponies
And those fantasy teams so n(aw)fl
But for me
Lil Charlene
Its gonna be sonoma
If ya gotta play for free

Flash yer baby blues
And those puppies fo sho
But for me
Sweet Charlene
Its always a glassa sonoma
If its me you wanna see


JAZZ FEST Go To The Gospel Tent

I want to go back to the streetcars,
the beads in the trees,
the shady uncle cousin someone
round the corner who has JUST what I need,
just a little after midnight; then
I need that walk the length of Esplanade Blvd
during Jazz Fest to approach that steamy Southern Mecca of Sound
where a southern soul can find release and respite and relish the latest fishy dish;
the only crawfish here is the department of no transportation
as I sit and sit and sit and inch by millimeter creep on home,
at TWO in the afternoon…[the schools aren’t out yet!]!
and all the girls are sworn sisters from the order of pure remorse,
how sad.
Texas friendly…you got the dough, they’ll be your friend,
but all my grapes are sour and its Friday, the stereo is on twelve—
the cd is on capricorn records and a lil band from Georgia…Ah-MAN!
so let’s raise that glass of merlot from St Francis, sonoma valley—
brother gots a pig valve, and aunty is winning at bourre, de cours.
Go to the gospel tent! Where’s that streetcar…