UNDER THE LIGHT OF A FULL MOON

 

like pulling a wisdom tooth
like an outbreak of shingles
I sit here lost in 
the attic of my mind

the fog rolls in
slips through the crack 
of my living room window

born at home premature 
under the light of a full moon
I walked the jungles of Panama
fed off Beat Mania 
in the streets of North Beach

Shaman poets sang in my ears
under a bed of stars young
women with dresses
that clung to firm thighs
damp dark cavern
wet as morning dew
peach fuzz dinner
drew me in devoured me
like quicksand

the sweet fragrance of the past
mates with comrades long dead
as I walk back into my birth
work my way through
the sound of water

the wind propels me
towards my destiny
my boyhood gone
like an old jalopy used-up
rusting in an auto junkyard

I head toward the comfort of the now
nailed to the cross of the past
in the language of the present
with no words to light the fire

as I carry the memories
like a mountain climber
with a heavy backpack

vague memories of my mother
singing me to sleep
and the chill of waking
the tongue of dawn cold as dry ice

the hawk sweeps down for the kill
a dog howls at the moon
a cat yawns in boredom
the universe draws new boundary lines
fragile as a new born

the monkey rides the master’s back
the coo-coo bird moves backward
into the clock
fearful police lock and load their guns
black boys moving targets
in the night

voter suppression laws to keep
the voting down
southern barbecues
with rednecks hungry 
for black “boy” stew

gone the passion of revolution
sell out satisfaction to 
the status quo

the night hound of death
stumbles into the day
the rich roast the poor
like a pig on a spit

labor unions turned into mannequins
fuel the fire of Wall Street
the war machine moneymakers
bleed the blood of our youth
like an undertaker dresses the dead

the Roman senate proceeds unabated
turn out gladiators like machinery parts

endless parades marching bands
and waving flags played out 
like a Disney Land production

slaves without chains
government without representation
this nation of criminal politicians

the ghost of Custer rises like
a creature from the lagoon
creeps through the night
like a faceless Santa Claus
with a bag of Indian scalps

Allah competes with the Pope
for the rights to the head of Jesus
beheaded by ISSA barbarians
back from a night of slaughter
as the congregation stumbles
like a drunk into the future
carved out in the hands
of a gypsy fortune teller
as I wait out the night hours 
in solitude
shut out the demons of insomnia
like a faulty light switch

the holy of the unholy 
money exchangers
make and pass new laws
laws that feast on the bones
of the poor and dispossessed

a future where animals
turn into animal crackers
and wingless birds hop frantically
around the dinner table
with carving knives in their breasts
serve themselves up as holiday feast

the angels occupy the cheap seats
at Yankee Stadium God sends down
a bolt of lightning
dismayed at the flawed diamond
he created in his image