Dear Kitty, Who Are You?

Everything and All

SO, what's new, Kitty?  I know you're Famous 
for something...  can't remember too well
there is noise in the upstairs apartment
the neighbor hallalujahs in the window

his steps are returning across the floor..
What was I saying? oh I remember
Dear Kitty, I write to you now, it's Her.
A child thirteen  within the shadow

You were the Namesake of an Outer Ear,
  ONE person who listens and cares for all
Who knows every anxious innocent Fear
Yet you are not her God. You are her Call

I wonder what you do for Living Now
That She has Died and on you go on Without Her.

LANGSTON HUGHES

I, too, Sing, America. L.H.

When Hughes appears for the portrait in suit

Mustache, hat, and a gaze reveal something

He Becomes a mystery to himself

He watches wild turkeys in the grass

From the passenger carriage of the train

He could measures the distance to heaven

and compose a song for every scene

but not before long something ascertained

as the sound the road sings to the journey

and what most resembles a song within

and clinging to its self presented essence

speaks in memory of a courtier

Sir Langston Hughes of Joplin Missouri

later moved to Harlem New York CIty

TENOCHTL

X Man in Tenochtitlan looks across

Its ancient temporariness its woes

just as were sung by Nezahualcoyotl

“are we merely the flowers of our loss?

Are we magnificent all for nothing?

These are the petal leaves I respire

Not just for randomness -- I am a spirit.

A Taker of Beauty at my Losses

I do not Wish for War or to lose cares

Bring me my instruments I will follow

What they perceive are not my own Verse

I am Unified in a Yellow Field.

The Cempazuchin grows younger to tend.

While it is a Child it is sacred.

On Maturation sacrificed or Freed.

POETICUS SUPREME

I go and tell my boss it's not that I'm a crazy whore. 

It's merely a matter of proportion.

See, you teach school and I Teach SCHOOLS.

You run a school. I run it down.

You censor me. I censor myself more.
You write books. I write tomes.
You contract pedagogy. I bear Truth.
You are a blip on my screen. I'm supreme.
Think that I'm Hot. No, I am on Fire.
Think that you're Free. But, I don't retire.
I exhaust knowledge until it can't Swing.
I squeeze out the pulp and I make it Sing.
What can you do but to sneer and suggest.
That I am a whore and you are the best?

HATED BEAUTY

We are not an Intelligent Species
Everything ALive is Intelligent
Design by Comparison to Us
THere is no point to debate

between Evolution and Creation.
A Poet is a Republic of One.
Whether they Quarrel or War to their Doom
Yet, Verse returns Dominant in Fashion

It is done everyday and can be Done
Quite Simple without ADO about
Can be Done til the Skies grow Black and Blue
For What is lacking is substantial Dirth

A Chasm Revision and Ablution
not even an Imitation. a RUSE
a Lacunae Awakened and Rising

The Death of Mandate as a Blessing
For to Hate Beauty's a Form of Dying.