one night at Lou’s gig

Lou remember me from the nose bleeds at the Greek
among the stars and trees you sang about magic loss and happenstance
we were together in LA
no one thought about the irony of your songs or the tragedy in the sparks of people keeping people down forever the sigils of history warn
that night when the heirs raised their fisted hands for some questionable victims
the silver spoon afternoon faculty culture bunch joined the fun to line their vote pouch
the loss streamed with hemorrhaging velocity happenstance remained the same
under controlled televised well made up coiffed dos they watched her burn five days the news ministers said
yet we were all born simmering
Lou i left the forest and i left you
to feel the burn wicked with the same  fire of Pharaoh and Baba-ato
the Tlatoani and Xia and Shang
but in modern America Lou we both agree we prefer to do it Roman style

urbanized safari

the bear caves ripe with shade i go in every night somnambular in waking life there are traces and clues of human nature on the forest floor naked toes step on glass butts used condoms as they make their movement toward the yawning door the bears and zoo have left this wing and moved half a mile to a chic man made compound the trees are pink flamingos brown and the cotton candy makes me blue as i am old but living young the monkeys still amaze me i pet the deer and drool at tigers staring up at me after my tender heart has over flowed with spots on the giraffes backs i go to have a drink and i keep drinking on for days dying in my own captivity

hey Mrs. Butterfly

hey Mrs. Butterfly

i want to just say

that in all of my years

i’ve known of you

and the fire flies

lady bugs bumble bees

june bugs dragon flies

and most of God’s

perfect creations

when not hyper vigilanting

over my folks or the predators

my mind would drift away with you

the colors and the hues

the mechanisms made of truth

your wings and curly tongues

and the symbols afforded to you

from people who came before me

and the Egyptians how they loved

the beetle called the scarab

something to do with Khepri

and the rising sun

i believe it

i always have

i know i’ve let your beauty

and your meaning

float from my hands

but i want to say

that i’m ashamed

that i don’t know how

to describe you

my thoughts and my words

cold hollow and crude

those that have been prescribed

to me during my days of rebellion

in my eyes and in my memories

i can only describe the violets

on the hill as like the colors

of the bruising in the midnights

or the red of carnations

as the blood from my lips

for refusing to give in

or the grace in the flutter

of you the butterfly

in complete and utter silence

but before you send well wishes

and praises

i want to tell you

i’ve been no angel

i deeply hurt and failed to protect

the one who i should’ve loved first

but look it here

daisies and trees cacti

and geese all of the colors

in the rainbow high

and the moon and the stars

and Venus and Mars

i dig you man

and i’ve haven’t lost sight

that universe and the life in it

has always been beautiful in my eyes

even if the magazines

don’t think so

i know that i’m right

Mrs. Butterfly

i hope you can find it

in your perfect heart

to forgive me

for not being able

to knit you the

words that are worthy

of praise to your merit

green gown

the nature is at work today toiling in her green gown purple tip toe slippers amongst the mighty pillars made of timber underneath the carpet of it all with the millipedes and bumblebees across the shadows are the rays of light igniting warmth coming from the heavens as mother floats upon the ferns who reach up asking for a kiss of dew awaiting for her nurture