H e a r t S o n s & H e a r t D a u g h t e r s of A l l e n G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m H e a l t h S p a : R e p o r t 2 0 1 4 : A r c h i v e s E d i t i o n

MICHAEL PINGARRON

during the passage of a day

up in the morning

I dress drink my coffee

and depart

I buy a ticket

on an airplane

hijacked

I travel travel travel

farther than

my father

fire rises throughout this land

and consume me

I leave with my ashes

scattered on the wind of its breath

as hot as an insomniac computer

the world flames up as its heart beats

I burn I learn

many hidden secrets few

believe are true

their darkness shines

like a precious stone

locked safely in a vault

I'm told not to care

by a floppy disked god

made in my image and likeness

who protects me from myself

and from gangs of komodo dragons

holed up in Baghdad

I'm urged to hate those

who don't understand

our mythic slogan lingo

of loss and sacrifice

locked in the president's

briefcase

carried under guard

and labeled

top secret

declaring

there's still hope

we'll win the lottery

by selling millions as slaves

in the promised land

of despair

we caw like crows for salvation

dead bodies hung

like scarecrows

complaining about comfort

on death rows full

of famished hyenas

who laugh as they rip

every sacred morsel of mystery

from our dreams

I know it's hopeless as

I hear nationalist hymns

and anthems

crooning about freedom

curtailed

to save us from its wicked curse

making me shake my head

hoping to scatter

fear and hate

2/28/04

[Originally published in NHS 2004, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs04/Michael_Pingarron.html.]