Portion of a Sutra of Days & other works by Louis Braquet


After witnessing the appearance of a gorgon on his gransparents' farm in Hammond, Louisiana, at the age of 3 or 4, New Orleans poet Louis James Braquet III became an avid visitor to the realms of the ancient alchemists. Over the years, his visits to the gardens of living waters have allowed him to amass talent in the arts of philosophy, poetry, prose, painting, drawing, music, and self-transformation.


Portion of a Sutra of Days

i love longwinded days
of on the couches jack kerouac ravi
listening to shankars of ravis
in contemplation deep

deep contemplate
                                winded nights
                                fellowship days

how you tell us dear fran-

Dear, lovely one, unearthed moonchild of wilderness black leather cypress

                                                   b  u  r  n  i  n  g


Last Night in Persia

Outward bleeding, that
sheep's blood darkened ambrosia
you're so fond of
plainly visible
against bone of bedsheets.

then the moon in league
with your painted windows
& flies trapped in its beams,

shadowplays weave
a new night-gown to match your hair,
fanned out like confiscated rifles of a brutal warlord,
jewels darkening in his wake.

Like the panther's, your eyes
rolled slack in their case.



The men in their official, codified tanks
are shooting, constantly
s  h  o  o  t  i  n  g
in the room next to mine-

I never get any sleep.

Last nite, when shooting was done, through
the hole in the wall, I saw
the fatigued men descend upon their booty-
their beauty,
hunger in their prying, glazed eyes as they unfastened her
from a large wooden stake,
all red w/ bleeding, bruises completing the effect,
& took turns w/ her,
one, discussing
her performance.


Lost to the Medicinal Field is the Concept of Health by Catharsis

Mavericks on the outskirts
of town repose with stolen
women & winejugs of damask.

One arm cradling hair
of her sleep, & one pinky
outstretched in bleary sermon, spurred
heels properly puncturing toad-
stools, let the children snap twigs
along the gated city in ardent
somnambulism vigils.

Let thin ermine hairs of lunar
rhetoric unfurl an aluminum
carpet over water.