Wine-Scented Dreams:Ballad of a Creole Moon      Louisiana had been returned to France from Spain and my gait had a new liveliness which could only be that of a lover. My fifty-year-old legs carried me down the colonial avenues of...

This is my masterpieceI have poured my heart and soul into this  I must hand this in  The pounding in my chest will not cease Every metaphorEvery juxtapositionWas executed with  A precise description She is going to hate it.That witch of...

Death winks at thelilies that smile inthe rain.He takes her.The last dirty trick.Watered drinks andsyphilis doesn't do thepatrons any good.Too much grief forplacebos and madness.Relief must come.Booze and fantasy justbring sickness, andlicking frogs isout of the question.Pipe dreams ease...