Farewell

O generation of the constantly busy and constantly informed,

I have seen researchers slowly pouring over books in libraries;

I have seen novelists with pen and paper doing endless revisions;

I have seen them know all worth knowing

     and write the most timely things,

     and all outside, or on the edge of this electric web.

I am entangled, but less than most.

I see both more joy and fear than you,

     and I feel them.

The researcher and writer,

     they saw more joy and fear, and wisdom than I,

     and they lived it.

And the mice inhabiting the library,

     nesting in recyclable paper,

     don't know to read,

     but they know all they need.

(This is a revisiting of Ezra Pound's Salutation.)

America (revisited)

America I have given you nothing, everything you have you have taken.

America quit pushing, I don’t like what you are doing.

May 17, 1999, I am about to graduate from college in a mountain of debt.

America where are the black helicopters?

America who has the atom bomb?

Why are you still here?

America I don’t have my on mind.

When will we start policing the world?

When will we fill stadiums to feed the poor?

When will you criminalize tobacco and legalize marijuana?

Who is America?

Is anyone listening to me?

Habla espannol America?

How can I write a poem if we don’t speak the same language?

America what happened to the days when teens would drink beer on Friday nights and not drive anywhere?

America I was a republican when I was a kid. I am not sorry.

I like money, I want to work in big business.

America, greed is good.

I can drive and write this poem at the same time. Efficiency America, efficiency.

I knew a pretty girl named America once. Where did she go?

Uncle Ted and Tim McVeigh must die!

Let’s invite the militias to the White House America. A nice dinner will patch everything up.

America where is Allen Ginsberg? I don’t see him but I know he is here.

We need to go to war! Saddam Hussein is rising against us.  The entire world will fall.

The president needs a smoke screen, a cloud of desert sand.

America quit looking over my shoulder. I don’t want you to know what I am doing. 

My psychoanalyst thinks I am nuts… She sounded surprised. But isn’t that why we are all there? Aren’t we all nuts America?

The laws are pilling up. What can I do with out being arrested? 

America what is perfect?  Why do you keep pushing me?

America what is your story?  Who are your parents?  Were they drunkards?  Did they care?

America I don’t care anymore.

Note: This was actually written on May 17, 1999 while I was driving a car. 

Stupefaction

We are not all Rilke’s panther,

Mighty wills stupefied.

If we were, the stupefaction

Well, it would stave off a war,

A battle of all against all.

And that stupefaction

Is a benefit to all, not a fault or flaw.

Most of us dance about the center

Because we have nothing else to do.

We will the nothingness of empty

And meaningless repetition.

We will to be stupefied

To be sheltered from our own weaknesses

And the meaninglessness,

The nothing of another sort

That might take advantage of us,

Or erase us.

We pace in circles so that those prone to dominate

Those great wills, will do so too.

Because we want to be.

We want to be more than we want greatness.

Waste

WASTE

(An attempt at punk-like song lyrics that never found music.)

What is it that they say?

About the best laid plans

What’s it that they say

About bands without any fans

Planning and scheming

Singing and dreaming

What a waste

What a waste

Hold your tongue in the air

It is something you can almost taste

Profits are on the rise

All so efficiently

Onward and upward

Obsessed with progressivity

To get the next new thing

Held by a gold ring

What a waste

What a waste

Hold your tongue in the air

It is something you can almost taste

Whatever it is

Whatever they say

It isn't a game I want to play

About that share that's cursed

 Just look closely and see

What's just tossed away?

It's dripping with humanity

It’s just tossed away

It’s just tossed away

What a waste

What a waste

Hold your tongue in the air

It is something you can almost taste

Whatever it is

Whatever they say

It isn't a game I want to play

Whatever it is

Whatever they say

It isn't a game I want to play

Mostly Disconnected

It has been
A few days
Mostly disconnected

The voices
In my head?
They are back
To talking with me

No longer fighting
No longer
The voices of others
No longer bullying, internalized

It is self criticism
Exploration
Not adversarial

No longer the paranoia
Of what others will say,
But the pursuit of saying
What I mean better

The internal struggle of being me
And making myself