Chaos

California, it's like
Ovid's poem the Meta-
morphoses, in the
beginning of the world
where everything, air
land and water, was
intermingled and
without form.  Heat
fought against cold
day fought against
night just like
today searing fire
downs the trees and
houses, next day
floods carry them
away.

To get moralistic
you could even say
South Central L.A.
and Brentwood are
like that.  Raw
passion, untouched
by reason or
restraint, mindless
flow of looting
hostile racist
cops wet their
nightsticks in
blood.
Blood flowing
sticky as syrup
on a dog's paws.

A "plaintive howl"
is heard on the
street.  The dog
can't sell his story
to the tabloids and
is, thus, innocent.