(dedicated, I see, to Diane di Prima)
One stop at Mac’s Back’s book store
Lost me $13.84 and there it was I gained Diane’s words
Between shocking purple printed design, it was
Singing to me for years and I finally caught on
And I was in luck, the book was signed on the front page,
I knew I had a treasure
This cool chic with her Buddhist alibi beats rantings on
And casually speaking of Ginsberg, Pound
I had to stop in the street and pull the baby’s carriage back
A bit and put the paperback in my pocket
Before we lost our lives.
Yeah, that good.
Like this wheel goin’ round, the words opening that
Revolving door where the enlightened ones are sitting
Back there with mighty pen shields and great laughter
That ease the tears of poets-
And we’re all cryin with our heads on someone’s
Plate dressed like a puppet
Our strings out of tune
Our strings badly bruised
Our strings made of telephone wires and t.v. cords and grape vine wraths and ignoramus antidotes and media frenzies and salon-styled politics and staturistic stimulus and economic blunders and cold, hard cash and forgotten souls dangling from gold plated rope-
With our necks stuck out on America’s doormats, waiting
For the Feds to bust in waiving rifles
At frail children like they did Elian, so we can burn tires in the street and scream “ AMERICA, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”
This book in my pocket vibrating like a bomb
Her words a wailing out all over the pages
I sit down on the concrete grass and turn out the goods of the poet,
Wondering, if we shall ever stop crying.
copywrite 1996 kara E Goergen
One stop at Mac’s Back’s book store
Lost me $13.84 and there it was I gained Diane’s words
Between shocking purple printed design, it was
Singing to me for years and I finally caught on
And I was in luck, the book was signed on the front page,
I knew I had a treasure
This cool chic with her Buddhist alibi beats rantings on
And casually speaking of Ginsberg, Pound
I had to stop in the street and pull the baby’s carriage back
A bit and put the paperback in my pocket
Before we lost our lives.
Yeah, that good.
Like this wheel goin’ round, the words opening that
Revolving door where the enlightened ones are sitting
Back there with mighty pen shields and great laughter
That ease the tears of poets-
And we’re all cryin with our heads on someone’s
Plate dressed like a puppet
Our strings out of tune
Our strings badly bruised
Our strings made of telephone wires and t.v. cords and grape vine wraths and ignoramus antidotes and media frenzies and salon-styled politics and staturistic stimulus and economic blunders and cold, hard cash and forgotten souls dangling from gold plated rope-
With our necks stuck out on America’s doormats, waiting
For the Feds to bust in waiving rifles
At frail children like they did Elian, so we can burn tires in the street and scream “ AMERICA, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”
This book in my pocket vibrating like a bomb
Her words a wailing out all over the pages
I sit down on the concrete grass and turn out the goods of the poet,
Wondering, if we shall ever stop crying.
copywrite 1996 kara E Goergen
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