I have an incorporeal compass inside
which, when the trail splits
or crosses, knows which way to go
as if the life inside chooses from
among the countless greens
how to visit the feathered cousins
&
I visited green heron and
saw the egret atop the piling
anhinga just a flash of wings
his sharp call across the lagoon
&
Soon City Golf Park will send the men
in a green duck boat filled with poison
to kill the algae skim offending their greens
&
Desire red salvia
thrusts up from
the underbrush
&
The leopard frogs sing
through this wet blanket heat
high in breeze touched trees
Automatic Walking
About Me
Mark Folse is a provincial diarist and aspiring minor poet from New Orleans. His past blogging adventures included the Katina/Federal Flood blog wetbankguide on blogspot.com which David Simon told NY Magazine was one of three blogs that helped inform Treme, and Toulouse Street–Odd Bits of Life in New Orleans, which once outranked the Doobie Brothers on Google Search. His work has appeared in The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Trampoline, Unlikely Stories, Peauxdunque Review, LMNL Anthology, The New Delta Review, Metazen, New Laurel Review, Ellipsis, What We Know: New Orleans as Home, Please Forward, The Maple Leaf Rag IV, and A Howling in the Wires (which he co-edited).
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Well Bottom Blues 
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