On Ginsberg's America,1st Part Poem by Whitney Jones Olson

Standing outside in the American evening
I am at once cold, naked, exposed;
tired of making excuses for myself, behavior, and
compatriots to these Academic walls,
to these individuals who are illiterate,
or bereft, at best, of meaning, understanding;
Walking, in their grey suit uniforms around me
as I stand, sure and perplexed on the sidewalk
utterly free of contradictions, and, yet
and yet.

Penciling myself into this world while feeling
I am far too much a part already
irrecoverable immutable irredeemable
already redeemed. Naturally!
Sick, and pale hungry underfunded devalued -
Change flooding clinking from the fertile mouth of America,
America you never change and your rebels
may or may not stage their revolutions.
as for Myself - may not, except by the
staged coups of my pencil, which
if you understand, you are me already, born revolutionized bum
and the cosmic spirit of you one with me.