Poet’s thick meat gullet
(beaten by voice)
leaks old age opinions
of “life cannot go on like this”,
animal values of Humans.
All thought commutes from
frying pan screen
scrambling scrambling scrambling
bodies on living room couch.
where did these ideas come from?
The 50s have been beaten to death
by poet police force & teens
gazing through smoggy panes of vintage glasses
Stumbling to adulthood
sticky in counterculture spider web traps
The 60s have been beaten to death
playing guitars and writing poems
to get girls naked
and weakly fuck them.
They rarely succeed.
Voices of poets past
emerge as glitter glazed vomit
Lost wanna-be Buddha kid
like its his to cradle,
like he speaks of new discovery.
The revolutions we experience are personal, more so
than the ones we see
on the tv.
wild hair &
sing old worker songs,
but unable to offer practical solution,
the convenience hardens like cake batter
and we cannot
learn a new recipe.