Beads, Booze, and Broken Saints Poem, by gray0328, at My poetic side

the streets heave like drunk lungs,

colors spilling, spinning—

purple, gold, green in the gutter.

a brass band breathes somewhere near,

while bodies jostle like lost waves,

tides of sweat and bourbon collide.

a woman laughs, mask slipping,

her eyes say secrets she won't tell.

a man stumbles, sacrament of vomit

on his lips. someone cheers—

"throw me something, mister!" and

plastic beads fall like false salvation.

stilt-walkers tower like forgotten gods,

parade floats glisten in spray-can glory.

the sidewalks bleed glitter and confetti,

chaos churns into something beautiful—

imperfect and unreal, like life's joke.

I light a cigarette, too casual,

watch the madness carve itself whole.

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