Ever since he died, things just are not the same. But i'm really into Bob Dylan now. This organic/commie coffees great; hey nice tie-dye. I don't mind shwag if its the only stuff around. Acid, opiates and coke with some P.B.R. -at the happening place where gals re-enact Ani De Franco meets girls-gone-wild. Later when we are all sober we will find some more escapism on T.V. --where we don't have to come to terms with our neglect and abandonment.
Dance the dance
of bare feet
on the soil
of buried poop
at the gathering
where no one claims
their environment
subjective reality
just a fantasy
that will
be
their escape.
© S. Wesley Mcgranor
7/21/4
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem