The Abbey, 1984

A Baudelairean Burlesque

Heroin numb and amphetamine angry
I call for mescal and work down to the worm

The jukebox demoniacally croons in the corner
Baudelairean ballads of sadness and death

The clinking of glasses and echoing laughter
in the chase-light calliope fun house of madness

Chase me down Decatur till I reach Esplanade
to the safety of cold and enveloping dark.



Cold as the toilet lip dripping with vomit
in the whirling dark vortex of six a.m. swooning

I crawl to the kitchen as empty as bottles
that sparkle in the glaring of hangover morning.

Lumpy rank milk and inscrutable leftovers
cannot sate the hunger that gnaws at my belly

The barred door is locked that leads back to the Abbey
so I stumble to bed and collapse in a heap

Poetry Poem New Orleans The Abbey Decatur Street