Radomir Vojtech Luza

Gargoyles in the Dark

Claws of copper

Skulls of concrete

This has been the worst week of my life

Vultures cutting like knives

Rock n' roll has hives

No high fives

Beelzebub's last fight

God's might

Licorice rain at soccer game

Slippery field of pain

Goals burning like shame

Grotesque human faces

Cement spouts of doubt

Assemblage of the devil

On a bevel

Knees shaking every hour

Creatures unlike flowers

Massaging a hellish plight

Asphalt animals in the fight

Beckoning spite

Wolf at the Door

Russia on fire

Ukraine in the mire

Maybe we still stand a chance

In this insane dance

Rock n' roll at the club

Sex in the tub

Love has left us cold

While our souls are to

The highest bidder sold

Our government is but

In its own interest concerned

As the white flag is waved

Surrender paved

Mosques attacked

Churches ransacked

Synagogues a bloody fact

This purgatory

Never scratching history

As our aristocracy creates its own geometry

American Original

I was born out of Hitler's bloody disease

Stalin's scarred and shredded knees

Raised in the Deep South

Where African Americans

Hang from trees

Like gray moss

Rock n' roll the root disease

Elvis Presley on his knees

Black music his sole decree

Tears streaming down furious Tupelo face

Schooled in the finest

Catholic institutions of

Higher learning where

Hypocrisy is the game

Not Jesus' muted name

In which future doctors, lawyers and politicians

Call black people niggers without knowing why

Through battered cries

Uneven skies looking for a place to die

"Roots," the groundbreaking, Emmy Award winning television mini-series

Was scoffed at and scorned because it concerned negroes not Narcissus

Black folks not the alabaster same.

Change coming as slowly as molasses

The brown Mississippi devouring Mark Twain's glasses

Sweltering humidity and caustic reality in the Gulf South

Where art is not a whole

Football a savage weekend stroll.

A culture massaging lace and race

Like place and a lack of pace

Slavery misunderstood by brutal souls

With hearts like holes

Chains and shackles enough to murder enormous moles

And love painted by a purple, green and gold jazz band

Sashaying into the French Quarter's soul of sand

Doubloons echoing from the ground.

Like black magic, gumbo and jambalaya falling from our sounds

Beignets and coffee

Devoured at once

Mardi Gras a wild, Southern brunch

Tits, ass and alcohol on a Bourbon Street hunch

Perhaps my heart requires a Brennan's munch