Taking a page from Ginsberg.

What brings us to this world to contemplate the past, present, and future?
We believe that we are many separate souls, but in truth we are one
We strive on our own to seek salvation, not knowing nor understanding that our salvation is One
We must not save ourselves, but others, because by saving others we save ourselves

America, the words escape me.
I try to write, but the thoughts dissolve in my mind before they reach my fingertips
Memories of the dead-eyed Mexican mother, swarmed by swathing crawling children
Waiting, waiting, waiting for her name to be called
Holding an infant daughter amongst the rest, retching and sweating and vomiting and waiting
Waiting for a chance to live without health insurance
Waiting to pay money not to die
While mighty high whites in their polo’s and khakis and penny loafers with a bloody nose or a broken finger
Stride forth towards salvation of their tiny grave bodily injuries

This girl will grow as a second-rate citizen, America
For lack of money
For lack of parenting
For lack of the means to be an American Citizen

America, I am sweating
Coffee and nicotine streaming through my system
Waiting to reveal me, to uncover my secrets
I am not an upstanding Citizen

I feed the hungry.
I give money to the poor.
I drink and smoke cigarettes and pour through the books and the words of those before me
Those who said it once and said it better, but who were never heard

So I’m trying, America.
I’m not talking to myself, well maybe I am
I’m talking to myself and to you and to myself
Still waiting for the revolution
Still waiting for you, America
Still waiting for myself.

I wake up in the morning with a head full of words
Thoughts and colours, the music pounding and pounding
I still think of Dylan, and Ginsberg every day
I still think of how to say the words you need to hear, America

But I wonder if you’re still listening.

(August 2008, Austin Texas)