ALL THESE THINGS I
HAVE WITH ME NOW
(17th street blues)
I have seen too many things to keep sighted : the
17th street loft where you only showed your thigh,
that drooling feeling of trepidation for the wants of
my teen-age years; those paint-brushes we kept in
your Maxwell House cans, when that was near the only
coffee that mattered; those hundred hours we spent in
moments beneath dark powders. All these things I have.
Why then is this present-day so stupid? Whoever would
have thought - to motorize blinds, to electrify kitchens and
baths, to summarize a television screen on a small-phone's
running electronic face with a new-feed constant and useless?
Bring me back your objects; once more dis-robe for me.
Take me home again, Kathleen.
On the street below, now there are nothing but Easterners and
Mexicans and nomads and thieves. They sell cheesy watches
and five-dollar sunglasses that last two days. Even the plastic
around here is now foreign : the ridiculous men put their
prayer mats down and pray to the Sun of their Islamic
rears in the street. No restrictions except the scimitar
blade at our necks : 'I will behead you for that,' the
stupid shit wires home.
I am tired, and I have nothing left : forgive me for keeping
this boat in the shoals. Having seen too much, I can no longer
laugh, except at disgust - for it too gets funny. Cartoon
endings along streets of no names : boys being girls and
girls so patterned and gross as to try to be boys while the
forest around them is chopped and collapsing. If you do not
recognize the solid world, it will not recognize you in turn.
you. My friends, make no mistake, you are born
with what you are. Idiots.