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upcoming vacation

Next Wednesay i will be on tour of missouri with Dave Smith of all people. I am going to try to get at least the Amsterdam portion of going crazy done before then. I hope to change focus and tell some stories with Dave as we tool around the Ozarks and points North. Dave has been a diligent correspondent of late in spite of me not writing back and he took one of my behaviors in writing and sending me a poem that he didn’t keep a copy of. since its mine i have decided to post it. i believe its dave’s first online poetry.

Leftist gorillas and the likes – how ’bout a

banana?- if trees were made out of plastic

they’d Stand all alone, millions of ’em

forever – Sign 100 thousand feet high – reaching

toward the Sky – just so – “can you hear

the drummer…” slowin’ ” – enter nothin’

I really like this one, in Dave’s description he calls it “crisp, clean hot off the press just balanced enough to enter your soul and heart simaltaneously” (sic) and I think thats true. In one line he riffs on one of my poems which i will enter here. Its my commentary on corporate mergers and capital accumulation leading to its logical conclusion that there is only one corporation.


I hope one day

When there’s only one corporation

That its Whammo!

They invented the frisbee

And the hoola hoop, i think

So why shouldn’t they be the ones who get to rule the world.

Not the big banks

Who have never helped a child learn to play

Or a man bond with his dog at the local park

They’re to busy funding wars

All more deadly than before

And they don’t care who wins besides

They’re collecting interest from both sides

And the only pay for those who die

Are copper coins to cover their eyes.

And not the tele-communication empires

Spewing electronic pablum

Oh, how they’ve always done

Only now its the six o’clock news

And not just Gilligan’s Island.

Scintilating, titilating, nauseating half truths

To gather market share

To sell you a “Revolutionary New” hair care product

Or something for that “Not So Fresh Feeling”.

They sell sex and violence

Then ring their hands at Columbine

But with their star making coverage the next is not far behind

Live on ABC, CBS, and CNN!

And an old man says to his grandson

That I remember when

Kids respected their parents

And didn’t shoot their friends.

And the boy practicing “head shots”

Will cry from the other room

I’ll be with you in a minute Granpa

When I finish this game of Doom.

And not The Manufacturers

Of our god, The Sacred Car

That we drive to the treadmill at they gym

Because we wouldn’t want to walk that far.

And we’ll cover the entire planet

In pavement or in tar.

And if you want to breathe clean air

You’ll buy it at the Oxygen Bar.

And so my friends

When the story ends

And the last competitor falls.

If you want to fill your tank

Or go to the bank

Or shop at The World Wide Mall

The sign outside

Waving far and wide

Because its ten thousand feet tall!

Ought to read Whammo Corporation,

By god, we own it All!

Categories: poetry
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