See the sunken face of nature,
Hear her shrieking, fraught with woe,
At the city's neon hubris,
Giving off its chilling glow.

See the formless mass of people,
Hear the spinning potter's wheel,
Watch the shape of people changing,
As ideas become real.

See them dancing a quick tango,
Hear them whispering sweet lies,
Wearing masks upon their faces,
Wearing mirrors in their eyes

Living life just for survival, and
Pursuit of mindless pleasure,
While amassing status symbols,
Has become the one true measure, of

A culture whose existence,
Works toward its own demise,
Climbing down a burning ladder,
Numb to touch, and deaf to cries.

Life is good, fighting the good fight.
A bunch of beers with the boys, and
Standing up for what is truly right.
It’s what we do on Saturday night.
Kicking the **** out of blacks,
Jews, Mexicans, Asians and ****
And any not quite right whites,
Chanting three letters, waving flags.

It’s the American way.
No matter what liberals say,
It’s the only true way,
Be a conservative today!
Make a public stand
Show them where you live.
Hate anybody who is not
A red-blooded conservative!

The ***** liberals are coming
To take our jobs and weapons.
But, we are not going to let them.
They must think we’re all women.
We are real men, good and true
And we know what we have to do.
We believe in the red white and blue
And the sissified can all just go *****.

It’s the American way.
No matter what liberals say,
It’s the only true way,
Be a conservative today!
Make a public stand
Show them where you live.
Hate anybody who is not
A red-blooded conservative!

We believe in God, and Jesus Christ
And anyone who does not isn’t nice.
If this describes you, take some advice
Go live somewhere else and eat rice.
Because this is a God-fearing land
And if you can’t quite understand
Or you have something else planned
You will feel the back of our hand.

It’s the American way.
No matter what liberals say,
It’s the only true way,
Be a conservative today!
Make a public stand
Show them where you live.
Hate anybody who is not
A red-blooded conservative!

Feeling at this time, that I should really go to bed, but
Still I lay awake, and contemplate, what Fred Hampton said:
“If you dare to struggle, then you dare to win, if you dare
Not to Struggle, then you don't deserve to win.”
They shot him dead in his bed, tell me how long has it been?
10, 20, nearly 50 years, since the things that happened then,
What happened to the Panthers, Malcolm X and Dr. King, or
The Anarchists in Spain, the songs of victory they'd sing?
What happened to the world of struggle, in which they all used to live?
Where liberation's sweet embrace propelled the efforts they would give
You see, we need to put the ‘unity’ back into ‘community,’ and
That begins with you and me, living side by side, and
Working with each other, taking measures to deride, the
Ills of our condition that serve only to divide,
Those old notions of race, those old notions of gender, with
Raised fists, as we march, taking heed to engender,
A whole new way of life, and a vision to render,
Filled with class consciousness, making us a contender,
Maybe I could lie down, and I could find some rest now,
If we would only stop to realize that we're the real ‘how.’

419

We grow accustomed to the Dark—
When light is put away—
As when the Neighbor holds the Lamp
To witness her Goodbye—

A Moment—We uncertain step
For newness of the night—
Then—fit our Vision to the Dark—
And meet the Road—*****—

And so of larger—Darkness—
Those Evenings of the Brain—
When not a Moon disclose a sign—
Or Star—come out—within—

The Bravest—***** a little—
And sometimes hit a Tree
Directly in the Forehead—
But as they learn to see—

Either the Darkness alters—
Or something in the sight
Adjusts itself to Midnight—
And Life steps almost straight.

1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.

1400

What mystery pervades a well!
That water lives so far—
A neighbor from another world
Residing in a jar

Whose limit none have ever seen,
But just his lid of glass—
Like looking every time you please
In an abyss’s face!

The grass does not appear afraid,
I often wonder he
Can stand so close and look so bold
At what is awe to me.

Related somehow they may be,
The sedge stands next the sea—
Where he is floorless
And does no timidity betray

But nature is a stranger yet;
The ones that cite her most
Have never passed her haunted house,
Nor simplified her ghost.

To pity those that know her not
Is helped by the regret
That those who know her, know her less
The nearer her they get.

1680

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few—love at all.

Both Freddy and Frieda Flea
Had an itch and felt the need

To leave their home on Beagle back
So they packed their bags while Fido napped

They'd heard magical tales of the Big Top
Since their larva days on top the pup

They weren't here this time to clown around
As they found themselves circus bound

They hitched a ride in a hobos beard
Too no telling who knows where

But one thing that is perfectly clear
Both those fleas are outta here

Along the way they purchased needs
In a market place made just for fleas

Like underwear and mint toothpaste
Soap on a Rope to wash their face

Plus deodorant, quite a bit
You need a lot of it when you've got 6 pits

The rumor mill can be very mean
Fleas after all are fairly clean

After a day of personal shopping
It was all aboard for more beard hopping

Riding that hobo from coast to coast
In this their new hairy chateau

As circuses go they started their own
Advertising on the hobos back cause he never turns around

Over time their acts they've modified
As the flaming hoops set the hobos beard on fire

Now with Freddy as Ring Master and Frieda on trapeze
They are the Greatest Show On Earth, at least among fleas

In the great dephts of a collossal anthem
There were ray beams gathered, focused
Beautifully by a magic magnifying glass.

The true meaning of existence was living,
Breathing, focusing on step by steps little
Revelations; non-existing bouquets lit on
Misty meadows glowing in the morning
Dew drops budding on cherry blossoms.

He thought-nevertheless: he's falling into
The infinite abyss of his enticed farenheit
Hell, swirling his brilliant darkish mind to
The point of total absolute white, mingled
With blackness and sweet spectre of love
Profoundly smooched~wickedly nooked.