This old American Man

This old American Man

Sleeps dearly on cots, embraces the interior
Takes never asked twice the milk in fridge
And wants to hear your old stories
Cause the new ones don’t really affect him much
Lights at night to bright for his eyes in Cadillac
Where is his cane for sophomores?

Is he hiding in Valhalla?
The slain lone star draught recycled cup to
cup
the meat of the calf lodged away
stuck , for one knows that in the hallowed Newfoundland
we winter and we winter, we gain fat
weighed by our tributous

could he be found in china/Prague/peru?
For but a mere trumpet
On holy days, shall the flame of cup restore this dead warrior
Bring to him his pike, his stallion, his mead
For rape,!
For fire and seizure

For to long unchecked in the mess of roads and byways
An old man will crumble,
Be lifted of his mantle gown
And new stories of his return

Let us dissertate old men, patrons female let us populate
For your friends and family could be more interesting
With brown eye child, henchman

It is not to past in hour that we can unplug our brains
Still remainders of something very old, old American

-Stop this. I am to old
There he slept on fannin
Colored at the electronics museum
A sprig of plume, a yellow flower
But a shell, an unused organ, he will continue
To refuse a plug in and can be found largely
At the old places that are inhabited by asbestos to much they say
That it would cost more to fix the place up then to bash it down
Old decayed landmarks and no one with balls to bandana cheap downtown space
America, your old men are dying with there buildings, we all know that the Chinese
Will make use of our old shrines and lack of ingenious industry

If one was to so ask what he did to the Japanese,
The germans, the philippines, hed smile and wink for bouncing betty body
Waiting at home, a real wide open expanse in which he manufactured
Technology to take from his sons and childrens childrens
Forgive him, for he now wishes to undo what he has claimed by hand

He wants nothing for the equity of all his colors and weights
They say there is no castesystem globalwarming, they say a lot
Of stupid shit, who are we kidding our consumerism
To go days without money in America,
You must have it, be given it, or roll your body 500 miles across the
Rockies

Do you buy it?

To you bayou, solvent?
Do your shirts itch, your genitaliaur
What could they be saying or doing, with you not around, martin shorts
innerspaced are you vacuous and solvent
Because you are paying for this

We all are paying for this, everything, billed
So private our public has become creditor scores, tally
Where did the cattle traders and gypsies run from our central green
To building materials? Coppers, iron ore
A steel of our nomads fringing under watched highways and intersections
You pay for that, chandeliers in your eateries, you pay for your talented
Minstrels roaming to your town on billed free press magazines
30 dollars, you know for 30 dollars our could eat 30 items from the dollar menu
some people hunger, starved of talent, meat, ore
and you pay for it, you pay our cops to act as they do, you pay to hate your politics
you pay
you pay

pay me

pay us all

comfy, you there in your wallet, your furniture,. Your furnishings, your walls
your swimming pools your triple crème cheese, your jazz recordings lp
you are comfortably paid for
and will die when some one slits your neck
an old man