Miller
Light Stage – August, 2011
I guess these remnants
of Iron Butterfly
a band judged too downer for Woodstock
have lost amplitude as
they jam at the State Fair
Their ostriched sounds bleak with
thunder
as I qualify hot sun expectancy
with a craft beer
(fiery-tongues of three
roasted artisanal hops)
No sunshine acid hints
navigate hoops of real fire
(but I am verging on passive heat hallucination)
as they expound minority
numbers like ‘Butterfly Bleu’
(Wait, what is this? nearby geezers
ask)
I wait for the venerable
warhorse thinking damn I’m old
but then: Freaking magic, ma-an!
The fire-dance intro
I and the whole phoenix
ritual tribe rise free as one
subconscious in unity rhythmic boogaloo
memory
entering the garden
together, firewalkers on the big beat
as the sun descends the holy blue Iowa
sky
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