My Critique of the Beat Generation (Poem)

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Transforming fragility

The center of

Moving

Breathing

Feeling

Life

Bewildered by mistaken

Wilderness

Broken in the backseat

While neon television sets

And an endless assortment of

Drugs

Take shotgun

Leather straps

Tied to the padded

Coffin cushion

And they call me

Prancing through the woods

In the dead hours of the morning

Naked laughter

Endless euphoria

They call me mad

Brandished by green caress

A child of god

Serving a lone soldier

This battle will surely be my last

Against marching, marching, marching

Drones, prioritizing

Without soul

Profiteering

Stripped clean

A big business shopping center

Passing along the tab

Until quack dilly oso

And it’s all over

Until then

I’m getting arrested

Inside Abercrombie

With sagging asshole

And flailing genitals

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