THREE
i get the sense tonight you wish i was someone else,
someone less needy, with stronger nerves.
someone less prone to fantasy.“but no!” i cry, “we’ve got places to go and people to see!
we’ve got big things to say! don’t we?”you shake your head, “no, that’s fantasy.”
you say: that’s the stuff our childhood was made of.
you say: it’s time to grow up, face facts:
rent’s due.
food = necessity.
it’s the same sun over new york as over alaska, as over nevada,
as over cali.
no one cares for words. no one cares for pictures.
no one cares for anyone who isn’t on tv.you say: the beats are dead now.
hippy’s hip and punk rock too.
books? people read for sex & violence fuck philosophy.
bohemian children don’t make it big.
we wait tables. serve drinks. wash dishes.
we work at pearl paint… barnes & noble.
spend nights at coffee shops, sceevy bars maybe,
watching junkies play guitar, read bad poetry.
not like patti or di prima
‘cause we all know we ain’t never gonna make it.
that dream is gone.