I woke up in the Menagerie of American Cool.
Under the heebie-jeebie shakes and syringes of my junk-withdrawal,
I looked to the broken bulbs around the mirror for my reflection.
Scarlet dress blends matching scarlet lips
I hear the
The greats make their homes in colorful posters with sickly paint.
Posters of America,
Who yak back in beat bubble letters
“FUCK THE WAR.”
Then Stanza Break,
The balled palms of the occupants
The bouquet of the room reeks of the moody blues,
My nose is pounding and my head still stinks of
My heart is broken because I know,
I know! I can’t help them
I’m too young, ridiculous and late.
It’s not all bad though.
I hear the Devil likes the blues,
I found the relics of
At the Menagerie of American Cool.
The narcotic high is coming down.
Outside, rush my generation’s most brilliant minds
They no longer drag themselves through
Pink jumping beans bouncing
At least something is.
Rock and Roll is dead.
The notes that moved a nation spent.
We hear melodies of old men frayed from overuse
I envy the ear-hair that remembers how the bop bopped fluid,
They remember the cacophony of stamping feet at the marches
They saw bombs bounce on Iraqi sidewalks
As we clapped away at the four four of the chorus.
The Sexual Revolution is over.
Commonality in the word “fuck,”
Passionate freedom is born
The chase the hunt lust and Internet porn
Fucking and fucking and fucking each other
In the city evening steaming satin
I take my homework out of my backpack.
Huck Finn’s an e-book now,
Kerouac Whitman and Ginsberg
Ms. Donovan’s telling me to write about American Democracy.
About going west and finding open road.
About the courage of the hero and his love of the Dark.
And if we don’t abide the wartime tutelage of the academy,
So we cut the lights to drink, smoke and fuck,
Drinking and smoking and fucking each other
I look away from the Menagerie of American Cool
For I am too weak to stop them,
And too much a coward to stumble the other way.