Immersed in Popkultch the soul is smothered,
The sensurround of sterilizing inanity
anesthetizes, attenuates, adumbrates
Those reflexions, connexions, selections
Inherent in the inner self
where understanding flows freely
From one to one:
Where all is of a piece
In the realm of peace
Where the role is that of play
As fancy flows freely
Beyond Time and Place:
You are there, yet residing here
Separation is but a barrier
As life sets a stage
Where webs, nets and traps
Captivate the unwary
Who go along to get along
In a world where reality is not
As it seems.
Okay, so i was a bad boy as a kid
Typical enough I spose, back in the 50's...
Blowing up ant mounds, fantasizing Red Chinese
Oh yeah, we were programmed for war
Just like today's electronicuted Gamers.
Mind Kontrol is so much fun
Feeding festering schoolboy fantasies
Fertile fodder for imperial follies
Wham! Bam! Excuse me Maam
Didn't mean to hurt anybuddy
Was just feelin my oats
Like in some cowboy shootemup
At the y'all come back Saloon
Oaters, they usta call em.
Shot mourning doves perched on a wire
And sparrows at the grain elevator
Peckers, poking at spilled grain by the tracks
Just looking for lunch:
Flys with a spraycan nozzle,
Poisoning the kitchen air as a bonus:
Got me back once, the yellowjackets did
For stoning their pendulous hive on a branch
Had to mudpack the swelling face...
Made me look a human disgrace.
So older now, allegedly wiser,
See a wasp landing on the prison windowscape
Grab my pencil, teasing, tickling,, barely touching
Antennae flailing, she mounts it...
Aha! So now the fun begins...
Sidle the stick up by the windowsill
She's seen that frustration already,
So i try the newspaper for a landing site--
Reach waaay up the glass, hoping for disembarkation--
No dice there either on that solid mirage of freedom.
Getting tired of the game, i wave it in a big arc
And it works!
Jet-assisted takeoff, kinda sorta
She flies off, darting around the source of daylight.
Somebody gets nervous--
Such a frightful presence
What gall! disrupting this precinct's quiet
Imagine that! Wild nature invading manspace
Something's gotta be done.
A volunteer librarian rolls up a newspaper
Knees on the floor, flails the weapon:
Beneath the table the wasp flits and flees
So he strikes again and again--
Now a second attendant enters into the fray
Determined look, strutting strides intent:
A third one introjects "been here since yesterday"
As number two strikes, strikes, SMITES..!
Victory at last: One bold step for mankind.
One dead wasp for Mother Nature.
Fifty-six years ago today
The shots reverberated,
That fateful Friday morning of a Texas November
Echo into my ears, hanging in a K.C. poolhall
Where hustlers and streetboys gathered.
"The president has been shot!'
Early radio reports uncertain
Was there still hope?
Age twenty, intensely idealistic--political--
My suspicions keyed,
Tendrils of thought seeking, searching
Who pulled those triggers?
Sensed it ran deep--the President:
No cue in my hands, clueless too, I listened on,
Standing there, awaiting later bulletins,
"This just in: President Kennedy declared dead."
Sunday morning in Topeka
Fade to a friend's foldaway couchbed, watching
Broadcast from Dallas police headquarters
"I'm a patsy" escorted down the corridor...
Plunging through cops, reporters, a hatted man
Thrusts his hand out...snubnose
Live video etches through a lifetime's memories
From the hollow heart of Dallas P.D. security.
Seared-in image of Lee Harvey Oswald's murdered grimace
Concocted by subterranean schemers,
Cancels the patsy's day in court
...all tidied up, the key to the truth collapses on the concrete.