like pulling a wisdom tooth
like an attack of sciatica
I sit here lost
in the attic of my mind

the fog rolling in
slips through the crack
of my living room window
born at home premature
under the light of a full moon
I walked the jungles of Panama
fed off Beat Mania
in the streets of North Beach

Shaman poets sang in my ear
under a bed of stars
young women with dresses
that clung to firm thighs

damp dark cavern
wet as morning dew
peach fuzz dinner
drew me in devoured me
like quicksand

the sweet fragrance of the past
mates with comrades long dead
as I walk back into my birth
work my way through
the sound of water

the wind propels me
toward my destiny
my boyhood gone
like an old jalopy used-up
rusting in an auto junkyard

I head toward
the comfort of the now
nailed to the cross of the past
in the language of the present
with no words to light the fire
as I carry the memories
like a mountain climber
with a heavy back pack
vague memories of my mother
singing me to sleep
and the chill of waking
the tongue of dawn
cold as dry ice

the hawk sweeps down for the kill
a dog howls at the moon
a cat yawns in boredom
the universe draws new boundary lines
fragile as a new born baby

the coo-coo bird moves backwards
into the clock
fearful police lock and load their guns
black boys moving targets
in the night

voter suppression laws
to keep voting down
Southern barbecues
with “rednecks” hungry
for “nigger” steak

gone the passion of revolution
sell out satisfaction
to the status quo

the night hounds of death
stumble into the day
the rich roasting the poor
like a pig on a spit

labor unions
turned into mannequin’s
fuel the fire of Wall Street
the war machine moneymakers
bleed the blood of our youth
like an undertaker
dressing the dead

the Roman Senate proceeds unabated
turn out gladiators
like machinery parts
endless parades and marching bands
waving flags, played out
like a Disney Land bonanza

slaves without chains
government without representation
this nation of criminal politicians

The ghost of Custer rises
like a creature from the lagoon
creeps through the night
like a faceless Santa Clause
with a bag of Indian scalps

Allah competes with the Pope
for the rights to the head of Jesus
beheaded by ISIS barbarians
back from a night of slaughter
as the congregation stumbles
like a drunk into the future
carved out in the hands
of a gypsy fortune teller
as I wait out the night hours of solitude
shut out the demons of insomnia
like a faulty light switch
the holy of the unholy
money exchangers
make and pass new laws
laws that feed on the bones
of the poor and dispossessed
a future where animals
turn into animal crackers
and birds are served live
at holiday feasts
the angels occupy the cheap seats
at Yankee Stadium
God sends down a bolt of lightning
dismayed at the flawed diamond
he created in his image


3 Responses to “LABOR DAY POEM by A.D. Winans”

  1. struck so many chords…this poem…like a creedo…soars

  2. Splendid music – blistering words —

  3. thanks, Alortolani ….just flowed out of me.

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