Saturday, January 2, 2010


Standing in the wind and the heat
the soldiers of freedom
line the street, the field of dreams
It's been a long time now, it seems
I mean, I am all for freedom of speech
But, do we have to teach, the children
how to reach, for weapons
instead of their hearts
seeing with their ears, not their eyes
betraying, not believing what they are seeing
pass the popcorn, the porn, I'm torn
All the hard work is your reward
That and days on the road
like Kerouac or the Joads
washing your hands in the gas station sinks
not knowing the brink
until you have been to it
Like the edge or death, it is final
The story ends and gets told
Obscene, on the faces of magazines
The TV screen
and the in-betweens.
I am always struck with the similarities
not the differences
Me, the neon, fuzzy dilemma
You, the romantic wilderness poet
We left each other in the past.
Or at the last disaster
We are the masters
Who want to be discovered
All on our own islands
sending smoke signals to each other
Through the fog and time and noise
using music for a uniter and a divider
whenever it was required
Fill the stadiums with savages and intellectuals alike
to see the serious spectacle
that has been laid out before them
Like breakfast or a weak plot
Being mean is all we've got, at times
Usually when we are hungry or tired
Is when we become mired in the muck of luck
And excuses for truth, the youth are pissed
They are coming for us, or the kids are
They wanna borrow the family car
for robbery and murder
mayhem with no apologies
an anthology told through the age of information
Intimidation, orchestrations
Eradication of truth and nature
The strangers are where the dangers

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