Night air of cooling dampness
Brushes Killer’s face
Searching for new recipes
He’s in this dim lit place

There is a voodoo princess
Better cook than all the rest
Long pig’s her only specialty
Her roasts are just the best

She’s agreed to meet him here
Kitchen, Sacre Bleu Hotel
It is the stroke of midnight
‘Tis black here as a well

He feels a presence enter
Candles begin to glow
She appears before him suddenly
I come, giving what I know

New Orleans at midnight
Fog rolling down the street
Grey wall cuts off his sight
The air is nothing sweet

A born killer’s dream come true
Blue jazz floats upon the air
Feeds his need for something new
He knows... that it’s out there

Killer’s instincts brought him here
To this place of magic
A land of supernatural fear
Ghosts of all the tragic

In the back of Shadow Lane
A blackest heart does live
The man is quite insane
Takes his pleasure, never gives

Mapwork by RW
-
Mapwork
inside my eyelids
pressed
white flash
-
traces of magnesium stars flutter
-
fireflies in May between retina and lens
-
is this the stroke, where it begins
-
extremities are feeling numb
-
pay to live now pay to crumble
-
-
Striking laughter winds in rage
-
ripping ground does it assauge?
-
or is it just another reminder
-
of the ants under the spyglass
-
our human race
-

luxurious aromas mingle
in tall mahagony rooms
cognac snifters clink
and twinkle
in the glint of chandeliers

as for me,
I'm tipsy
leaning cooly in a corner
twisted in irony
bored
and condescending

then I see her
and I'm suddenly intrigued

womaness aglow
latticed in spicey red heels
playing it haute and haughty
deeply lost in a reverie of hopefulness

and I want to hold her
enfold her
gently
in my arms

that, or either
slap her out of it

Floaters

By RW

Brief lightning

Halogen flash of feeling

too soon gone

not even an odor lingering

just moments made less savory

by rapid passage

Now I see spots

and the darkness is no longer comfortable

Where are you I need to talk?
To walk as I do, with new thoughts
A strange quietness to my ways
Where equals are so different.

Fly high with thoughts anew
Where is it going I ask?
Be gentle with their worlds
We can see many new words

Coldness that freezes Ice
Warmth that would melt rocks
Yet both held at bay.
Touching the mind.

To sing stories of old
Prayers from many tongues
Worlds kissing at a whim,
Then pursuing their own path.

passing between soft lips
the breeze-blown cloth of nightgown
and imagination
the soft skin
your cover is touching
the laces
stretch and slide across
softness kissing warmth

A brown jewel
I long to kiss
black lace releases
the mystery
braided in code
I must solve
silk black hair

Outer Valance

No words can ensnare the soft waves
of ecstasy that break the shores of our bodies
It is as twilight at dusk and dawn
where the creamy orange flame of day
meets the blue-black velvet sky
When truth is rich in the quiet moments
and whispers of passion are released
through primal cries of pleasure
and eyes are held wide open
to catch the fringed outlines
of youthful fire and smiles
that hold a lifetime of hidden desires

walking in a hard rain
wallowing in tribulation,
drizzling thoughts drip through
dank layers of grit and gray
inventing reasons
ad nauseum
all of which are
swallowed whole
only to be quickly regurgitated
for their foulness

god forbid, these damned debilitating blues
are just a result of life
as it is

so, in need of reason
yet, finding none
I inflict one
and go walking in the cold hard rain