in
San Francisco
Old
Moby Grape is a sailor
his
ship a long time comin’
Clouds
above his head full of sky
are
a surrealistic pillow
-live,
dead, or on happy trails
they
are his crown of creation
But
I feel like I’m fixin’ to die,
he felt
just
like Santana after the Alamo
Wow,
when will my war ever end?
Encore
When
Elvis is fifty years gone
let’s
line the streets
in
Hollywood, Memphis
Las
Vegas, Tupelo
in
the neon lights’ glow
to
sing Are You Lonesome Tonight
once
again with the King
Death
Sentence
One
distressingly matter of factly
never
worn earthbound
ordinarily
cruelly brutal Day
My
first amendment mouth lost its career
-due
to loud, unflinching
and
Public opposition to the Death Sentence
anti-capital
punishment capital punishment irony aside
This
is a Nightmare!
a
corporeal carpool of uncooperative incorporation
I’m
lost in an amaze of buildings
turning
one thing from another
found
lost and behind in my work
Numb
in non-union minion labyrinthine
conundrums
of un-presided deregulated
self-reinforcing
systems of regret am I
and
my opposition to the Death Sentence remains fast and true
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