Here's a poem from around 1978. This is the only poem I can recall writing in my sleep. It was coming to me as I was just waking up, & I grabbed some nearby writing utensils (I was on a futon on the floor at the time) & got it down. It's based on fact: around '77 or '78, due to some kind of issue with the Police Dept, city officials in New Orleans were considering cancelling Mardi Gras celebrations.


LOUSANNA


Indignant policemen arrest
a stalled Mardi Gras -
spring rolls in, a carnival
in a private shadow
of the vast land of sleep.

Tuesday is fat. This
is a display of weakness -
certain necks turn red.
Honorable generals
arrange a state funeral.

Lent comes too fast.
The democratic party's over.
Texas bouncers, cold
as metal, rusted Romans,
prepare the sacrifice:

let us honor the thin blade,
the man-made clock,
the traditional feast,
the secret society, and
also the undertaker's guild.

Then this masquerade
for an illusory season,
martial feast, flimsy
holiday on ice, is lost
in chords of Easter guitars.