Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

it's forty-seven degrees
on the roof, but the sun
creates an aura suitable
for a lounging lizard like myself

amphibians know the language
of del sol, snakes and toads
are bilingual in this way, they speak
appreciation for their warming blood

with closed eyes of reverence...but
foolish men ignore any of the solar gifts..
like viscous junkies they tear apart
the earth for a fix of black mainline gold

when they walk down the street their shadows
are slim breaths of shallow minds, barely
a reflection is made of the human form
only distorted shapes of death that follow madness

to their flip charts, and dry erase markers,
their power-points of damnation, the suits
and ties of gluttony eating donuts that cover the faces,
sprinkles and jimmies hide the warts of

petroleum witches flying on plastic brooms,
a hollow wean that never comes, tricks
are turned in posh hotels, treats are
the waning mornings of the lizard

It is the oil soaked delta death
the breath of the cities decay
with your blade of words you field dress the truth
they left dead
hang it over the fire to cure
we will need it in the winter

YOU WILL WORSHIP lORD GOD PETROLEUS !....