I think the poem I wrote to bring and read last night’s Howl Loud, the monthly meet up on the blue bridge at Bayou St John to howl at the full moon was too political, a buzz kill, even though current events were the inspiration for this event. I’ve already written the poem for next moon.
The Moon does not judge
the empires they have witnessed
which rise and fall like the tides
The Moon did not notice
that fiery phallic rocket
the metal insect on their face
The Moon only cares about
the men drumming in response
like the rumblings of the ocean
The Moon delights to watch
the women dancing in a circle
their swirling white dresses
The Moon smiles down
on those who drum from love
on those who contain the tides
Well Bottom Blues 
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