"I wrote the following poem in class this week. I would like to dedicate it to the guy in your page who is standing under the lamppost. "

A Lamppost Makes Lingerlight

A lamppost makes lingerlight.
It makes you want to hang around.
And a kitchen light's flourescent glare
tells of food that may be found.
The mecurial moon's wet silver face
is the silence before a storm
when two rings circle around it
and it's eye is full and worn.

The moon on your face will burn your sleep
and cauterize your dreams
turning your hills of numbered sheep
to a mirror that makes you scream.
A lamppost makes lingerlight
an island of white-on-black
but it's the cold and metal pole
that tells you you can't go back.

Faces are flattered by candlelight
or outside by fire
but the face you see as you go down
is the killer in desire.
Death doesn't let you see his eyes
only reaches out his hand.
It takes the darkeness of a pupil
to make you understand.

And once it's done and once you love
on some dark, deserted street
smelling the heartbeats on the air
listening to the walking feet
a lamppost still makes lingerlight
and now it's where you stand
keeping your fathomless gaze well-hidden
and holding out your hand.

From: *Jingles From Mercy Street*

By: Adrianne Price

Angel statue is one of the pair flanking the door of Anne Rice's St. Elizabeth's mansion.
The photo was taken from Carolyn's stunning WELKIN'S WINDOW web site, a site containing the most beautiful photos of New Orleans to be found on the 'net.