AMERNICA BY JOHN RICH
An American Agenda


Hippies, vestigial remains of the Enlightenment
Hangin in the Haight.
Ten years after
The summer of love.
A psychedelic Renaissance
Connecting the Voodoo child, Dionysian
Myth, Hoffman, Owsley, and the Dead.
Fear and loathing on tour:
An American Agenda.

A Gratefully Deadicated Jester flashed a
		Tarot Card,
And turned up the cool fool while
		The Great Goat laughs.

Hippy Hill is quiet, yet the princess panics
And the Knight fights. Crystals, Incense
Black lights, strobes, Neon lights,
Crystal balls and even Gypsies
Could not predict that Ken Kesey
Still drives
His magic, psychedelic bus,
And still parks at the Pan Handle.

The poets sing:
We hear note by symbol, vowel, and blue.
Dylan, Broomberg, Hunter, and Johnson-
			Roberts, mostly.
"Truckin', Truckin', Truckin'",
Under the City Lights we walk.
In the mystery of the misty fog filled

San Francisco night. Condensation
Soaked sidewalks, alleys, lights form
Reflective grids where oil saturated puddles
Catch swirling colours
Like a
Phosphorescent psychedelic tie die.

She's gorgeous
Her heel slips
		Spiked,
		Fishnets,
		Black.
She dances in a leather miniskirt
And makes me watch. I stand.
Lips touch, embrace, caress, the Tarot;
The Queen of Hearts touches, embraces,
Caresses The Tower.
A crack in the pavement
Where a dandelion clings to life:
Leaves sharp, jagged.

We walk past;
into the dungeon we go.
Candle light flickers scintillating
Patterns across batik draped walls.
Finger tips on her lips;
Her ear tongue tied, sips, drips, lips,
We bind, snow blind.
Forever near, forever known, forever gone.
The heat of passion rages red,
The Prince of Wands, the Queen of Hearts
The dungeon, the tower, and the Earth Quakes.

The earthquake rumbles, rolls, and quivers,
Or is it the street car.
Shakin' the old Victorian timbers?
Colours drip, tracers flutter, we sip, and melt
Into the nectar, ambrisia or estatic love.
Soft flesh folds, tongue, shivering, quivering,
Holding, embracing, communicating love.

The trolly car rumbles down the avenue
Echoing Visions of joy, loss, anger
Rebirth, pain, and love-
Echoing visions of the Queen of Hearts.

Uncle John, down from the redwood curtain,
Drinkin' cuppuccino at the Grand Piano,
He, drinks to rid his chemical hangover,
Eats with Wavy Gravy and Biscuits,
And an anarchist newspaper,
Make his morning, AM.

Mr. Natural trucks through the mission
With Jerry in the rain.
Robbie jams, Kingfish plays
A dedication to me:
"I fought the law, and the law won."

San Francisco's ether nights are past
Fast flies time, the unsubtle thief of youth:
Pounding, breaking, going, stopping ticking
Tocking, breathing, living, loving, and never
Stopping to rest.
White, brown, and pink powders, squares
Sugar cubes, rose crystal, pyramid gels,
Window Pane, Dragons, Eye of Horus,
Arrow head crystals, and all.

Cook the rock; grow the trees;
Smash the pipe, buy another.

Our, no my, utopian drug induced dream
		Broken!
"You don't seem to understand, boy;
I said, this is the DEA."
Baton Rouged in Louisiana,
Too close to New Orleans.

The lunatic bum yelled:
"America's procrustean oligarchy is growing.
Growing into a mighty heartless raptor
That flies off the bill and attacks its own
		America."

I am caught by the talon, the claws,
Incubus of prison walls that tear us apart.
The poppy took root in her heart;
We grow apart.

Bars blossom to freedom
And I get a parole officer, and
A bottle to pee in - the wiz quiz.
Free! Not quite free, but forced drug free.
Under the city lights we part.
She was like a transient cloud
Of fresh air. Images crystalize
In a moment, a fraction,
A transcendent fraction,
A frac....

She went south
I left the Golden Gate
Over the bay, down into the valley,
Over the Rockies, across the plains,
Past the mounds to stop in the shadow
Of the Brick Yard where the Eagle watches,
And Prometheus lives.

"The Eagle sees no reflection:
Horus Yin or Horus Yang?
What does its eye behold?
Fire holds no boundaries,
Out of flames born vengeance
And the Eagle pulls its arrows in peace time,
Aiming at its own."

Another found my heart
But my carelessness, foolishness, and
Don't give a damn attitude
Fed the Eagle. My life is in the
Belly of the raptor.

Industrial prison's slave labor
Slaughters sacred cows
		Good eats.
		Hathor?

Can I ever hide from the Eagle?
No one can escape spy satellites, wiretaps,
Bugs, choppers cruisers preying,
And I'm beginning to hate
The ignorance of an internecine drug war.

"Silver Eagle on the Shore line
Let us be ________________?
Free and easy!"
I have forgotten the song, washed away.
	Institutionalized.

The dong, the bell, the toll toils,
And the buzzer rings so we march
To the chow hall.
Today's meal: Hathor burgers and fries.

Along the wall, behind the wall,
In the nest, the shadow of the Eagle
I walk.

Silence?
There is no silence.
Silence is a rumble, a pounding, a rapping
A tapping, on concrete and steel.
My cranium thunders with the constant
Beat of the prison block.
The Eagle watches with arrows aimed.
It hates us all.

-- John Rich #910243

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