August

fascination...such a weed month

in the tapestry of life, a tempest

of locusts have overrun the yard.

I know how to fall down in the tall grass. 

I know how to kneel over the stream. 

how to cry in my reflection adding a teardrop.

how to protest peacefully and wear a mask,

consecrated by the auguries. back off!

who has augmented society’s problems?

who has us burning down in an omni-crisis?

all come to look for America...

just stay in the circles on the lawn. 

discharge... drunk with power rebels, burn that man down

CHAZ/CHOP and liberty speak of new colonies,

new governments, new ideas, new laws, new rules.

new Future, I am in a glacial period of love. love is love. 

is love a withdrawal doctrine? who’s law? who’s order?

CHAZ trans chastity, really, who is the radical...

a rollback of protections? we will see breezy days,

pitch days? can you hold it, livid pandemic? can you solve it?

war! there is a law that governs their lawlessness.

tenacious outliers come in droves as certain as autumn.

sporadic natures in the great flowering world unbroken,

hit the reset button just about mid-august.

stumbling our way through, no helping hands,

in the background cities burning and my pink tulips.

uptight people know how to make a mess. break the vase. 

extended turmoil. sometimes I run out in some kind of rage

against the outlaws on God’s property.

if you like you, you will want to talk about it,

a fluid interweaving of the past and present. they?

they want to build a tourist train through the Peruvian mountains.

the moon is not in doubt, it is a man and a woman.

she was so right. the operatic impulse wavers, 

Germanicus and Domitian did not stick. hot feet on pavers,

this omni-crisis has enlarged the space of outcomes

out past what is normally considered. 

working more than living, falling between two floorboards,

gold space and place laying down in the rhythm 

absorbing the sound, the tempest precariously close 

to repeating the received narrative 

but she brought me the sunset in a cup.

saying our leaders understand the gravity 

of our situation but are stunned to inaction, 

incapable of rising to the moment.

just bring me a sunflower. let me plant it. 

colors in the music fade, disappearing destiny,

the destiny of destinies. blond transparencies

driving down the 405 in the sweet mode of blended notes.

who got it right? who made the right choice?

ride on from the lines written in early spring.

the real catastrophe, economic destruction

of late capitalism waits for august. the end

runs in mustard wineries, black olives. food for thought

thumbs up, it is august now, venerable august standing in a queue. 

each one is the setting sun. ego gone, who are you?

in a period of extended turmoil...another weekend out of my life.

dead by august. yeah, there’s hope it’s just suspended to a future august.