The Big Easy

There's nothing easy about living in the big easy. Skinny dogs and two legged spiders Spinning violence down salty streets hurricanes drooling upon below sea level hospitality/// once a year all the misery covered up by whisky breasts and plastic beads. Chicken feet clawing their way out from purple corners. Rock faces eating crawdads and unfiltered cigarettes. Puffs of blue smoke making love to Marie Laveau's ghost. Onto the front porches 0f sweaty plantations Into the black hearts of those magnificent jazzy tombstones. Death is much easier than living in the big easy. but not nearly as much fun.