drummed out of the infantry
of death
I came back to you carrying
the poems of my soul
opened the door of life
and found only death inside
America
I have read the state of the union
and listened to the state
of the economy
in a state of hysteria
America where the
poor and the black are sentenced
to Attica and the rich serve time
at Club Med
America where the coal miner's
lungs are used for corporate profit
where the only sound that can be heard
is the opening and closing of the downtown
Bank of America
America where the angry voices
of suburban mothers can be heard
preparing their children for death
amidst the hurried jerks of masturbation
from the closets of the university.
America where blank faces move
like a pendulum in a grandfather's clock
pointing in the direction of the once
proud hobo now standing in line
in hope of becoming an S.P. Detective
riding free the slick super chief special
out of San Jose
America where the elderly are treated
like railway boxcars
kept idle unemployed
forced to walk the streets
like an unacceptable poem
America
it is hard living in a country
where the hours are shaped like coffins
the law and order administration running
wild in Waco Texas
America where the politicians
sold the country to I-T and T
and left the people with buffalo
stew and scientology

Reader's Digest has renewed
its option on the education system
the mafia weans the poor on drugs
while IBM and Coca Cola are busy
competing for the nations heart
as cancer and cardiac arrest
ride high on the charts followed
closely by DOW Chemical and DDT
a hard combination to beat

America where the
Narcs of New York City spawned
from a generation of gangsters
grows fat on the fears
of countless junkies

America where holiness is found
in the bowels of Buddha where
Christ died on the cross
and the police were quick
to take his place

America
I listened hard to your
Bi-centennial message dripping
blood like a butcher's apron
heard the drums salute the
ghost of Custer calling
her children to muster
the magic OM of Ginsberg
buried in the bowels of capitalism
that doesn't know the difference between
a poem and a dollar
the American way
if you can't beat them
buy them into the system

America
I grow older carrying
A new found vision invisible
to the human eye
the years growing heavy
in the cavity of my heart
left feeling like an army mule
hauling a cargo of death
each new year sweetened with
my own blood

America
you are the only country
I have known
for any length of time
and unlike others
I have no desire for Russia
Cuba or Prague
But I am a man
I am a poet
I am the energy running through
your veins
all too aware of the
storm troopers of justice
who would turn off the beauty
like a rusted faucet
these men in blue who
sniff the blood of my wounds
like a hound dog crossing
a river of blood
their sirens playing sad tunes
outside my window
like a poet forced to read underwater
but the middle finger he raises
is jammed back down his throat
until the shit he shits is theirs
and the blood they bleed is his
and the cries united fill the air
like a lonely bird lost in flight