Creole Sketches for Times Picayune

Creole Sketches for Times Picayune
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Creole Sketch
Creole City
Creole Mornings
The Creole Way
Vieux Carré Sketch
Stairway to Heaven
Lonely Creole Kid
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Creole Sketch

“beneath sparrows
delirious in mimosa”
—William Faulkner,
“Out of Nazareth,”
New Orleans Sketches

falling in love with the—
young creole kid was like
big easy dying splendor

it had been going on—
for a long time, a sort of
left bank creole version

loving him was like—
having paris in my
hip pocket, my palm

Creole City

“My God,” he said,
clutching me, “Look
at that face.”
—William Faulkner,
“Out of Nazareth,”
New Orleans Sketches

the old creole city—
had a bizarre romantic
fascination with her

it was still the most—
foreign, most european
of all american cities

its strangeness, charm—
stood in quiet opposition
to the rest of new orleans

Creole Mornings

“wheat slumberous
beneath a blue sky”
—William Faulkner,
“Out of Nazareth,”
New Orleans Sketches

there were streetcars—
named desire and young
creole boyz with big dicks

every morning she sat—
on the balcony with a
drink and a joint

a knock on the door—
it was the creole kid
who came to fuck her

The Creole Way

“beneath a blue sky”
—William Faulkner,
“Out of Nazareth,”
New Orleans Sketches

the creole way—
had a way for every day
but not for heroic deeds

for 250 years now—
leisurely intermingling
race, habits, customs

vieux carré pastiche—
so many different cultures
in him deep inside her

Vieux Carré Sketch

the seedy elegance—
perpendicular grace
and cracked plaster

the unkempt facades—
the katrina wreckage
from vieux carré rooftops

the smell for miles—
stench of rotting ruins
a city going down

Staircase to Heaven

“a desecration”
—William Faulkner,
“Out of Nazareth,”
New Orleans Sketches

steps on the stairs—
languorous, manhandled
magnolia petal

light-skinned like her—
a young man passing
for whitey mandingo

a decayed lily look—
reserved masculine
temporary vanity

Lonely Creole Kid

“young face brooded”
—William Faulkner,
“Out of Nazareth,”
New Orleans Sketches

a damaged lily—
his dark bedroom
eyes full of despair

lost his girlfriend—
full of that ancient
male sorrow for love

he looks away—
a wilted lily who
trembles for me