Moon Over Revolution

(from the moon series)

holds belly for the butterflies. Dreams in the clouds
and eats in the gutters. Wishes and wants and prepares
and dies in solace without exposition. Watches
the squares and the plazas and waits for the next
burning person. Watches the news and reads
twentieth century continental philosophy and jeers
at wilted photographs of Che screen printed and hung
on brick walls of banks in back alleyways. Rolls eyes
at the pigs, shakes moonlight to the bottoms
of the chasm in the cafe's at night, in the bosom
of the beast, in the bold egos of history. This is where
the moon rises, slow, full of ambition, drenched
in star spangled sacrament, humbled by grand figures
in the night. Twists and struggles to break plaster
and chains. Vaults the heavens and emerges, wonderfully
ambivalent and fixed to the pubescent air of revolution.