Forgive me for speaking my mind
I know what I do, indeed
wish I could be excused by ignorance
contradictory as this may be, nonetheless.
Mirroring the masked masses
peering behind green eyes, faithfully awaiting
for the truth is gold
karma, a purple haze.
Yet glasses and blouses raise–
“To beads, bourbon, and babes!”
Is it themselves or you, they fail to see?
Floats passing, I lift my stein smirking–
“To the Mardi Gras Parade!”
Gracefully parting is fading
to plaster walls of understanding
Dylan Thomas or Bob Dylan
words or chords evoke feeling
where skeletons fall freely
green, gold, purple–home.