Poem

Here’s a poem.  Doesn’t have a title.

america don’t want

strange rough

citizens who are

not heroes

of quiet obedience

nor bold leaders

of commerce,

nor within the

golden human realm

of fame and fortune

winners we

have picked

in serious

societal

beauty pageants

of morality

and virtue

and high esteem

the drinker and

the smoker

are suspect

and excess

is eyed dubiously

the wild glee seekers

are no longer

indulged in

such dark

times

drifters and prowlers

appear superfluous

among digital phenomena

and naked exposures

and citizens

so hip

their thoughts

slice like ginsu knives

outsider status

now reserved for

enemies of the state

alone,

and our own

mad Rimbauds of

deranged senses

ignored, eclipsed,

as they wield

their shaking

pens.