1968 . . .
New Orleans
I’d been in worse
and better
just a room to sleep
sweaty nights
and sit
in the daytime, on the bed
being quiet
not to bother anyone
that is how I was then . . .
how I wanted it
to hide my future, my
secrets which drove me there
in the first place
damn it to hell and back
Downtown Jackson Brown
Minnie the Moocher
all those cats
doing Mardi Gras
outside my window
shuttered and closed tight, my window
because . . . I felt like shit
why not
who was I to think thoughts
grandeur ones
so I sit and sweat
horde my puny little secrets
secrets, like
I am no good
everybody knows it
made me write

Sitting all alone
In a smoky, crowded bar
Life passes him by

What happened to the
. . . . . . . .
hell, I can’t even remember
is gone
ain’t it sad
how did it get this way
when the whole world is partying
made me also write this

Carnival is here
Crowds jam the street with laughter
He plays solitaire

Last night I ventured into
well, I went here

High above the street
A lonely window shines bright
Love is bought . . . and . . . sold

Oh, yeah, I forgot
I have
to tell
if you wanna to hear
you do, huh
don’t you
my, my
what good are secrets
if nobody wants to hear ’em
so I write ’em down
on paper, yeah

Crumpled note on floor
Tells the story of love gone.
A time for dying

©February 3, 2005 / Jerry Pat Bolton