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.