The Gilded Age of Defiance

Give me Lou Reed
and the bus station poets
headed for NYC!
Sing me verses
about scattered Indians
and lizard kings
chasing their distant phantoms.

Give me life as pure
and immediate and glorious
as the siren stories
of Miles’ trumpet.

Yes, give me the Perverted Old Man,
Henry Miller,
and the warm nectar of innocence,
with its half shades of bare skin
and its boozy aura
of unchartered hunger.

Give me tales
from Ledbelly’s dusty guitar
about bright hung moons
and the cotton crops of Louisiana.

Give me the pattering footsteps
of Woody
along the banks of the Alameda,
creating sweet myth
about the starry skies of California.

Give me the scriptures
of Walden Pond,
Civil Disobedience,

And the unbridled dreams
of America,
born from the womb of defiance.

Copyright, 2003; TheOctavioTree


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