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With your shopping cart masses why do you let
Idiots lead your way
Why do you let the Rothschild determine your future

Why do you let the sinking masses
Slip without a dream without a clue
What happened to Chef Boyardee?

We're told we're supposed to be scared
Of people with flying carpets
I'm more scared of the man in office
Who says keep no hope alive.
And insists with his rum and his cocaine

Once upon a time
We were the crown of creation,
now we're just lucky to mop the shower.
What happened children?

Did you lose your hope
Did you lose your dreams?
Did You gain children
Did the man talk to you too loud?

Why is Tommy Chong in prison?
Shouldn't all of us gone with him?

What happened to Joe Hill anyway
Why should we, the American people put up with any of this shit
Where is Joan Baez now?
Where is Dylan?
Were Guthrieís words useless?

Tommy Chong is a hero
At least he has balls

I went to San Fransisco onetime.
Slept in the rain
Felt the lice from the palm trees
Felt the ignoramous pigs who were set up by
Or in the pay of the same dream
As the Shanghai coast.
Capture your mind and sell your body
Thatís the American way
I felt Allen Ginsberg tap my shoulder as I drank at the Vesuvius,
And saw Kerouac feed me acid one time
And when my heart was racing
The tigress came to settle me down

There is a place, where heaven refuses to see
And from the heights all are cast down
On the San Andreas fault
On Haight Street
Where the dead live to see the light
But are forever denied
It took me a week to get the smell off my silk jacket

Seeing dead people with throat necklaces walk
By me as I drank my absinthe, and ate nightshade
In Golden Gate Park
And when the aconite did its job, I saw other things years ahead of time
In the Elizabethan Garden

Those were days
Who else knows where Hayes and Stanton is? And Why?
Who has sat on the hill where White Rabbit was written?

And to see from Strawberry Hill,
The Ocean and the Oglala Maiden who felt my soul
Across the street
That one day
When I made steaks on a Coleman grill
And fed the whole damn park with $2000
That I'd brought with me.
Even the Racoons were happy

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The following comments are for "America"
by madjackbyron

Simply brilliant. With you every step of the way. It reads like a creed in itself. there is nothing more alienating than poetry written to create distance. your voice is strong and continuous enough to create intimacy, a tete -a- tete,(insert accents) travelling time with the Beat and the great political poets. I have rarely been carried so effortlessly thru a world of another's making.

( Posted by: MsZ [Member] On: January 20, 2005 )


( Posted by: unseenwriterx [Member] On: June 27, 2006 )

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